TO  STUDEN 


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FRANK    CRAMER 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

Class 


TALKS  TO  STUDENTS 

ON  THE 

ART  OF  STUDY 


TALKS  TO  STUDENTS 

ON  THE  ART  OF 

STUDY 


FRANK    CRAMER 

Author  of  the  ••  METHOD  OP  DARWIN-  A  STUDY  IN  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


Of    TH£ 

UNIVERSITY 

Of 


NEW  YORK:  THE  BAKER  &  TAYLOR  CO. 
33-37  E.  17  STREET,  UNION  SQ^  NORTH 


f   < 

,  ma, 


CcfyrifU, 

*r 

PRANK  CRAMBK 
Cotyrifkt,  mj, 

ir 

THE  BAKER  &•  TAYLOR  CO. 


TO  MY  FATHER-IN-LAW 
ROBERT  SAMSON  THOMAS 

WHOSE  OLD  AGE  IS 

CROWNED  WITH  A  RECORD 

OF  NOBLE  LIVING 


(PREFACE 

Anyone  who  is  rash  enough  to  add  one  more  to  the 
hundred  thousand  books  and  pamphlets  that  have  already 
been  written  on  the  general  subject  of  education  ought, 
perhaps,  to  give  a  somewhat  elaborate  justification  for 
his  act.  This  book  must  make  its  own  defense  for  exist- 
ence. If  it  does  not  make  good  the  intention  of  its 
author  it  will  go  promptly  to  its  long  home  where  most 
of  the  others  already  are. 

The  book  is  not  intended  to  fill  the  place  of  a  manual 
of  logic  or  psychology  or  pedagogy.  There  is  already  a 
surfeit  of  such  books.  It  is  intended  to  furnish  effective 
suggestion  to  the  student  who  is  passing  through  the 
critical  period  of  his  intellectual  life,  while  the  mental 
powers  are  plastic  but  on  the  point  of  setting.  The 
writer  believes  that  with  helpful  suggestion,  youth  can 
in  a  measure  be  its  own  instructor  in  the  matter  of  the 
right  training  of  its  powers.  The  first  essential  to  this 
end  is  that  it  shall  see  clearly  what  is  wanted. 

When  the  writer  was  a  child,  the  Indian  boys  used  to 
come  into  his  native  village  on  pleasant  winier  days  to 
shoot  pennies  that  idle  white  men  put  up  on  hitching 
posts  for  them.  Those  young  Indians  nearly  always  got 


vi  THE    ART   OF   STUDY 

the  pennies;  but  not  merely  because  they  had  good  bows 
and  arrows,  but  because  they  made  such  accurate  study 
of  their  weapons  and  of  distances.  When  an  arrow 
missed  its  mark,  it  became  a  subject  of  discussion  and  ex- 
planation. And  there  is  no  doubt  that  every  failure  was 
forced  to  teach  a  lesson.  It  was  the  careful  study  of  the 
weapons  and  conditions  that  made  the  shooting  accurate, 
and  caused  even  the  little  lads  to  become  so  quickly  skill- 
fuL 

Skill  comes  quickly  only  by  attention  to  the  method 
in  which  the  thing  is  done ;  and  the  highest  kind  of  skill 
in  anything  is  never  attained  by  heedless  repetition.  I 
have  faith  that  the  student,  at  least  in  the  later  years  of 
the  secondary  school  and  the  first  year  in  college  can  un- 
derstand the  necessary  explanations  of  his  own  mental  ac- 
tivity. And  when  once  his  attention  is  fixed  upon  it,  he 
can  see,  perhaps  better  than  his  teacher,  the  most  glaring 
defects  in  his  methods  of  study. 

The  book  has  been  written  entirely  from  the  student's 
of  view;  and  therefore  no  attention  whatever  has 
been  given  to  courses  of  study  or  modes  of  presentation, 
subjects  which  depend  exclusively  on  the  teacher  and 
are  discussed  in  the  formal  pedagogical  treatises.  There 
are  doubtless  dry  places  in  it.  When  the  reader  reaches 
them  he  may  avoid  the  desert  and  tarry  not  nor  stay 
his  feet  until  he  is  on  the  other  side.  But  if  curiosity 
overcomes  the  repulsion,  he  may  find  that  even  a  desert 
can  teach  something  to  a  good  thinker.  If  this  book  does 
not  meet  the  requirements,  someone  will  yet  write  one 


I  point 


PREFACE 


VII 


that  will  answer  the  purpose.     The  only  thing  I  feel  very 
sure  about  is  that  there  is  need  of  such  a  book. 

Whatever  claims  may  be  set  up  for  the  contents  of 
the  book,  there  can  be  no  serious  claim  to  originality. 
Many  of  the  ideas  are  as  old  as  Aristotle  and  have  been 
handed  on  from  writer  to  writer.  Nearly  everything  in 
it  is  common  property.  Help  has  been  drawn  from 
many  sources  and  among  those  whose  work  has  been 
drawn  upon  I  need  to  mention  especially  Bagehot,  Bain, 
Harris,  Herbart,  Huxley,  William  James,  Jevons,  Kay, 
Locke,  and  Spencer.  I  have  to  acknowledge  especial  in- 
debtedness to  James'  Principles  of  Psychology  and  Jev- 
ons' Principles  of  Science.  Ordinarily,  in  a  systematic 
work,  direct  quotation  and  references  to  sources  are 
strictly  in  order;  but  the  writer  has  sought  to  simplify 
the  character  of  the  discussions  by  avoiding  both,  and  it 
is  hoped  that  the  above  acknowledgments  will  meet  fully 
the  requirements  of  both  justice  and  good  taste.  The 
thanks  of  the  author  are  due  to  Mr.  John  C.  Kirtland, 
Jr.,  of  Phillips  Academy,  Exeter,  New  Hampshire,  Miss 
Hattie  Lummis  of  Chicago,  and  President  B.  P.  Ray- 
mond of  Wesleyan  University,  Middletown,  Connecticut, 
for  many  important  suggestions 

FRANK  CRAMER. 
June  20,  1902. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     The  Law  of  Habit 1 

II.     Habit:  Friend  or  Enemy? 11 

HI.     Interest 23 

IV.     Simple  and  Compound  Interest 30 

-  V.     Attention 40 

VI.     Effect  of  Mental  Alertness  on  Scholarship 56 

VII.     Observation 63 

VIII.     Growth  of  the  Power  of  Observation 72 

IX.     Discrimination 84 

X.     Association:  Illustrations 96 

XI.  Association:  the  Original  Order  of  Experience...  108 

XII.     Association  According  to  Similarity 116 

XIII.  Association:  Some  Practical  Applications 121 

XIV.  Classification 136 

XV.     Memory 153 

XVI.  A  Good  Memory  Depends  on  Good  Thinking. . .   166 

XVII.     Reasoning:  Illustrations 183 

XVIII.     Reasoning:  a  Larger  Problem 196 

XIX.  Reasoning:  How  the  Mind  Struggles  after  a  Truth.  204 

XX.  Reasoning:  Its  Progress  Depends  on  Recognition 

of  Similarities 212 

XXI.  Some  Further  Conditions  of  Sound  Reasoning. . .  224 

XXII.  Reflection..                                                               .  237 


x  THE  ART  OF  STUDY 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIII      The  Impulsive  and  the  Vascillating  Will 243 

XXIV.     The  Agony  of  Starting 252 

XXV.     The  Petrified  Will:  Habitual  Mastery 258 

XXVI.     The  Feelings 272 

XXVII.     Science  Culture  and  Feeling 279 

XXVIII.     Ideals 287 

XXIX.     Some  Elements  of  Character 294 

XXX.  Conclusion  . .                                                                .305 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

.OF 

mas! 


TALKS    TO    STUDENTS    ON    THE 
ART    OF    STUDY 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  LAW  OF  HABIT. 

A  pendulum  made  of  a  marble  and  a  piece  of  string, 
if  let  alone,  hangs  still  and  straight.  If  the  marble  bob 
is  struck,  the  pendulum  swings  to  and  fro  across  the 
point  from  which  it  was  started  by  the  initial  stroke. 
But  even  under  such  compulsion  it  beats  across  the 
vertical  in  ever  diminishing  curves.  After  a  period  of 
rhythmic  motion,  if  let  alone,  it  comes  to  rest,  in  its  old 
position  of  stable  equilibrium.  Force  can  move  it  away, 
but  it  always  comes  back  to  the  starting  point. 

In  other  cases  the  opposite  is  true.  As  soon  as  a 
disturbance  is  started  all  of  nature's  forces  conspire  to 
increase  the  effect  and  prevent  a  return  to  the  old  con- 
dition. Putty  is  powdered  chalk  well  mixed  with  linseed 
oil,  and  is  carefully  stored  in  bladders  to  keep  it  from 
drying  out.  It  is  in  an  unstable  condition.  It  can  be 
used  but  once.  It  is  kept  plastic  until  it  can  be  applied, 
but  when  it  is  put  to  use,  it  undergoes  the  single  fate- 
ful change,  and  its  career  of  usefulness  depends  upon 


2  THE    ART    OF   STUDY 

the  permanence  of  the  change.  When  soft  it  is  plastic 
enough  to  be  molded;  and  when  dry  it  is  rigid  enough 
to  keep  its  shape.  When  a  thing  is  in  unstable  equilib- 
rium, disturbance  starts  a  change  that  is  never  again 
undone. 

A  chopper  strides  through  the  snow  to  the  foot  of 
a  big  pine  tree,  that  seems  to  pierce  the  sky.  It  has 
been  so  true  to  the  light  above,  it  is  so  straight,  that  he 
can  drop  it  where  he  will.  He  must  make  it  fall  where 
it  can  be  most  easily  reached  by  the  skidding  teams. 
With  an  easy  cunning  born  of  experience  he  cuts  a  little 
lower  on  one  side  of  the  tree  than  on  the  other,  and 
chops  last  on  the  higher  side.  The  tree  is  indifferent; 
it  can  fall  anywhere.  But  when  the  work  is  done  there 
is  a  dainty  quiver  of  its  million  needles;  it  seems  to 
stand  with  majestic  poise — a  giant  about  to  die.  The 
chopper  puts  the  last  few  strokes  just  where  they  are 
needed,  and  with  a  crack,  a  rush,  and  a  crash,  the  tree 
falls  where  he  intended  it  should.  Stately  in  its  upright- 
ness, it  needed  but  an  inch  or  two  of  over-weight  on  one 
side;  thenceforward  it  was  doomed  to  move  in  a  single 
way.  The  slightest,  nicely  gauged  initial  push  decided 
the  fate  of  a  giant  which  a  little  while  before  might  have 
been  pulled  the  other  way  by  a  child  with  a  silken  cord. 

An  unstable  thing  is  set,  as  it  were,  with  a  hair- 
trigger  attachment,  and  a  relatively  slight  amount  of 
force  applied,  lets  loose  the  vastly  greater  latent  force 
of  the  thing  itself.  It  may  be  so  nicely  balanced  that 
it  seems  to  poise  and  quiver,  as  if  in  search  of  the  true 


THE    LAW   OF    HABIT  3 

direction.  But  after  a  little,  initial,  decisive  push,  the 
nature  of  the  thing  itself  transforms  this  gentle  inclina- 
tion into  a  hundred-handed  force  that  locks  and  seals 
the  fate  of  the  thing  beyond  repair,  and  it  lies  at  last, 
with  its  power  expended  and  its  destiny  fixed. 

A  new  coat  sleeve  has  no  inclinations.  It  has  be- 
come adapted  to  no  arm.  In  the  ordinary  sense,  it  may 
fit  a  hundred  different  men;  but  in  the  truer,  deeper 
sense,  of  having  become  adjusted,  it  fits  no  arm  whatever. 
But  let  the  coat  be  worn.  The  arm  within  the  sleeve 
furnishes  a  constant  force  that  bends  and  straightens  it. 
Wrinkles  begin  to  show,  and  become  more  and  more  pro- 
nounced. The  sleeve,  at  first  indifferent  in  the  matter 
of  wrinkles,  was  capable  of  being  impressed  with  any  set. 
But  once  that  particular  arm  begins  to  live  in  the  sleeve, 
that  particular  set  of  wrinkles  is  inevitable.  Their  ar- 
rangement is  determined  by  a  rigid  mechanical  law. 

The  sleeve  has  taken  on  a  habit.  Of  numberless 
possibilities,  one  has  been  realized,  and  at  the  same  time 
all  the  others  'have  been  excluded.  The  sleeve  has 
yielded  to  force,  and  its  structure  has  been  modified. 
It  has  a  character  now.  And  so  with  a  boot.  Neither 
will  ever  really  fit  another  arm  or  foot  after  it  is  once 
"well-broken." 

The  smooth-skinned  face  and  smooth-pressed  coat 
belong  in  the  same  class.  Neither  appeals  to  the  artist 
as  a  subject  for  study,  because  neither  reveals  anything. 
Character  is  written  in  wrinkles.  They  are  the  hand- 
writing of  force,  the  record  of  work  done.  Character 


4  THE   ART   OF   STUDY 

itself  is  the  final  shape  taken  by  material  that  was  once 
indifferent,  plastic,  capable  of  being  molded  into  any 
form.  It  is  that  one  of  many  possibilities  which  has 
been  realized. 

What  is  true  of  putty  and  the  pine  tree  and  the  boot 
and  the  coat  sleeve,  is  true  of  the  human  brain  and  mind. 
Their  destiny,  within  certain  limits,  is  determined  by  the 
forces  that  are  brought  to  bear  upon  them.  Acts  which 
at  first  seemed  no  more  easy  or  inevitable  than  their  op- 
posites,  come  in  time  to  represent  the  only  possible  course 
of  action.  Human  character  is  the  product  of  two  sets 
of  forces:  the  constitution  or  tendencies  that  are  inher- 
ited, and  the  particular  habits  that  are  acquired  by  con- 
tact with  life's  surroundings.  Habits  may  be  looked 
upon  as  the  statute  laws  of  the  individual  life  growing 
out  of  the  inherited  constitution.  No  one  is  responsible 
for  the  constitutional  traits  that  he  has  inherited,  but 
within  reasonable  limits  he  is  personally  and  solely  re- 
sponsible for  the  physical,  mental,  and  moral  habits  that 
mark  out  and  distinguish  his  personality  from  that  of 
other  men. 

If  I  could  invent  a  good,  strong,  new  word  to  sup- 
plant the  word  habit,  I  would  do  it  gladly,  in  self-de- 
fense; because  the  law  of  habit  is  so  striking,  and  so 
fundamental  in  the  development  of  every  human  life, 
that  it  has  been  made  the  theme  of  myriads  of  sermons, 
lectures  and  school  essays.  One  who  undertakes  to  say 
anything  about  it,  is  forced  to  face  the  revulsion  that 
has  been  produced  by  constant  harping  and  endless  repe- 


THE    LAW   OF   HABIT  5 

tition.  But  the  very  reasons  that  have  made  it  a  thread- 
bare subject,  make  it  important  that  the  student  should 
consider  it  seriously  and  at  the  very  outset  of  his  intel- 
lectual development.  The  law  of  habit,  which  is  the  very 
law  of  our  being,  is  what  makes  life  easy;  without  it 
existence  would  not  only  be  intolerable,  but  impossible. 
Its  general  significance  from  the  student's  point  of  view 
cannot  be  over-emphasized;  and  it  may  be  made  one  of 
the  most  attractive  subjects  of  thought  in  connection 
with  the  general  problem  of  education  which  the  student 
is  trying  to  solve. 

Our  lives  are  almost  entirely  composed  of  routine 
acts — acts  indefinitely  repeated  with  the  return  of  the 
days  and  nights.  But  every  act  that  is  subject  to  repeti- 
tion becomes  subject  to  the  law  of  habit;  so  that  our 
lives  are  really  made  up  of  performances  governed  by  this 
inexorable  law.  That  is  why  we  repeat  and  repeat  the 
trite  old  saying,  Man  is  a  bundle  of  habits.  Now  the  - 
student  is  in  the  act  of  making  such  a  bundle ;  and  what 
its  nature  and  value  will  be,  depends  on  the  considera- 
tion that  he  gives  to  the  fundamental  law  of  habit  that 
shall  by  and  by  govern  him  with  an  iron  hand. 

In  simple  words,  the  law  of  habit  is  the  tendency  to  */ 
repeat  an  act  of  any  kind  in  the  same  way  more  easily 
and  with  less  attention  at  every  successive  repetition. 
However  difficult  an  act  or  succession  of  acts  may  be  at 
first,  repetition  reduces  the  difficulty.  Ease  of  perform- 
ance increases  and  the  amount  of  attention  given  to  the 
act  grows  less  and  less.  When  an  act  has  become  a  habit, 


6  THE    ART   OF    STUDY 

the  performance  is  reduced  to  its  last  and  mechanical 
stage.  The  work  is  performed  without  conscious  assist- 
ance or  guidance  of  the  mind.  Skill  arises  from  giving 
attention  to  the  details  of  the  performance  until  per- 
fection is  reached  in  both  accuracy  and  speed. 

Most  men  trust  their  lives  entirely  to  the  law  of  habit, 
without  purposeful  interference  to  determine  what  the 
particular  habits  shall  be.  But  the  student's  power  as 
an  intellectual  unit  will  depend  on  his  ability  to  map  out 
lines  of  action  and  train  himself  to  perform  these  things 
regularly  and  accurately  under  the  most  helpful  law  of 
his  being,  the  law  of  habit.  The  amount  of  action  that 
he  can  safely  trust  to  habit  will  determine  the  amount 
of  mental  vigor  that  he  will  have  left  to  bestow  on  things 
that  are  new,  that  come  up  only  once,  that  are  not  mat- 
ters of  routine.  The  law  of  habit  alone  makes  possible 
the  "economy  of  mental  effort"  without  which  there  can 
be  no  intellectual  progress^ 

Habit  feeds  us,  guides  us  over  the  ground,  sees  to  it 
that  our  duties  are  done,  without  our  giving  it,  the  mas- 
ter of  our  lives,  a  single  thought.  It  lightens  our  labors, 
it  insinuates  itself  into  a  mastery  over  our  every  act,  it 
dooms  us  to  an  easy  slavery — a  slavery  welcome  because 
it  relieves  us  so  largely  from  the  necessity  of  active 
thought  and  decision.  We  are  so  completely  under  the 
control  of  the  law  of  habit  that  the  mind  is  left  free  to 
fall  asleep  or  busy  itself  about  new  and  unusual  things, 
and  the  process  by  which  we  slide  from  strenuous  effort 
in  the  performance  of  an  act  into  spontaneous  perform- 


THE    LAW   OF   HABIT  7 

ance  of  the  same  act  is  so  natural,  so  carefully  provided 
for  in  the  nature  of  our  organism,  that  it  is  the  one  ap- 
parently irresistible,  inexorable,  masterful  law  of  our 
being. 

Most  habits  are  formed  along  the  lines  of  conduct 
that  gratifies  our  immediate  wants  and  desires.  Our  im- 
mediate impulses  control  our  acts,  and  habit  makes  these 
acts  the  faithful  attendants  of  our  feelings.  All  bad  hab- 
its are  formed  along  the  lines  of  least'  resistance.  They 
are  the  ruts  where  the  ungoverned  and  untrained  feelings 
ran.  Habits  formed  in  pursuit  of  some  distant  result  are 
almost  all  good.  They  are  formed  deliberately;  they  are 
voluntary  habits.  The  student,  if  he  expects  to  govern 
his  career,  must  do  what  the  scientific  experimenter  does. 
He  must  interfere.  The  latter,  when  he  makes  an  experi- 
ment, creates  his  own  conditions,  decides  what  arrange- 
ments will  give  him  the  desired  results,  and  prevents  sur- 
rounding circumstances  from  interfering  with  his  plans. 
If  the  student  makes  a  study  of  the  law  of  habit  with 
this  end  in  view,  it  will  be  neither  dry  nor  threadbare, 
but  a  big  and  vital  subject  of  perennial  interest. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  here  to  enter  upon  a  discus- 
sion of  the  nature  of  habit  or  to  trace  even  in  outline 
the  relations  between  mind  and  brain.  That  belongs  to 
psychology  and  to  a  later  stage  of  the  student's  work.  I 
shall  at  most  consider  only  a  few  of  the  practical  bear- 
ings of  the  law  of  habit  on  the  problem  of  education  from 
the  student's  own  point  of  view. 

Humanity's  observations  on  Habit  are  not  all  hope- 


S  THE    ART    OF   STUDY 

lessly  buried  in  sermons  and  lectures  and  essays.  They 
are  crystallized  into  the  oldest  and  commonest  proverbs 
of  the  race.  Now  humanity  learned  most  of  the  truths 
by  which  it  is  guided  away  from  destruction  and  into 
success,  long  before  it  could  give  the  reasons  for  them. 
Men  have  long  been  able  to  judge  of  a  day's  weather  from 
the  character  of  the  sunrise,  without  being  able  to  tell 
why  a  certain  kind  of  sunrise  was  a  pledge  of  rainy 
weather.  Such  knowledge  is  empirical ;  but  it  serves  the 
practical  purpose  and  is  likely  to  find  expression  in  a 
short  and  pithy  proverb.  So  of  observations  on  the  law 
of  habit.  Men  did  not  know  why  action  becomes  easy 
and  then  inevitable  by  much  repetition;  and  we  do  not 
know  overmuch  about  it  now.  But  they  did  recognize 
the  facts,  and  coined  such  wisdom  as  the  following. 
"You  cannot  teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks";  "as  the  twig 
is  bent,  so  the  tree  will  be  inclined."  "Train  up  a  child 
in  the  way  he  should  go :  and  when  he  is  old,  he  will  not 
depart  from  it." 

If  we  had  never  heard  anything  about  the  law  of 
habit,  these  proverbs  would  be  very  striking  to  us,  be- 
cause they  all  by  precept  and  figure  of  speech  seek  to 
drive  home  the  same  great  fact,  that  with  habit  as  with 
wheat,  there  is  a  seedtime  and  a  harvest.  The  one  truth 
they  tell  is  that  the  formation  of  habits  is  restricted  to 
youth,  and  that  thereafter  forever  they  lead  their  help- 
less, mumbling  slave  where  he  does  not  will  to  go. 

Habit  has  been  called  the  memory  of  the  spinal  cord. 
The  rational  explanation  that  is  given  for  the  law  of 


THE    LAW   OF   HABIT  9 

habit  is  that  the  nervous  system  is  the  responsible  party. 
The  brain  and  spinal  cord  are  plastic  enough  to  receive 
impressions  and  rigid  enough  to  retain  them.  They  are 
at  the  outset  in  an  unstable,  indifferent  condition.  They 
may  be  impressed  with  any  set  of  habits;  but  every  phy- 
sical and  mental  act  leaves  an  effect  on  the  material  of 
the  nervous  system.  What  was  once  capable  of  receiv- 
ing any  impression,  has  now  been  branded  with  a  par- 
ticular one.  As  the  little  impetus  that  removed  all  the 
possibilities  of  the  falling  pine  except  one,  gave  the  fate- 
ful bent,  so  the  first  impressions  on  the  nerve  material 
decide  what  shall  become  a  habit  when  those  materials 
"set"  in  their  permanent,  "stable"  form.  Brain  and 
cord,  like  other  unstable  things,  receive  the  impression, 
the  record,  they  do  the  work,  during  the  process  of 
change  from  the  early,  unstable  to  the  later,  stable  con- 
dition. 

Hence  the  fact,  that  has  always  been  so  impressive 
to  men,  that  there  is  change  and  progress  in  the  forma- 
tion of  habits  only  during  the  early  history  of  the  indi- 
vidual. As  soon  as  an  act  has  been  once  performed,  "lines 
of  least  resistance"  are  established.  Its  repetition  is  easier 
because  the  nervous  system  is  ready  now  to  do  that  kind 
of  work.  After  continued  repetition  of  the  same  kind  of 
act,  it  is  no  longer  possible  to  act  differently  without 
tremendous  effort.  Like  the  putty,  the  brain  and  cord 
have  "set"  in  the  forms  impressed  upon  them  in  their 
plastic  state.  The  comparative  ease  of  doing,  and  the 
infinite  difficulty  of  undoing,  result  from  this  remarkable 
quality  of  the  human  organism. 


10  THE   ART    OF   STUDY 

When  once  the  nervous  system  has  received  the  early 
impressions  and  has  assumed  some  of  the  hurdens  of  the 
mind,  so  that  it  does  easily  and  without  conscious  effort 
of  the  individual,  many  things  which  at  first  required 
great  effort,  the  ordinary  processes  of  nutrition  keep  the 
nerve  tissue  in  that  changed  and  fixed  state.  The  nor- 
mal process  of  renewing  the  wasted  tissue  preserves  the 
record,  keeps  brain  and  cord  in  the  structure  they  as- 
sumed when  first  the  habits  were  formed.  In  course  of 
time  all  changes  cease.  The  nervous  system,  and  with 
it  the  individual  habits,  become  fixed. 


HABIT:    FRIEND  OR   ENEMY  11 


CHAPTER  II. 
HABIT :  FRIEND  OR  ENEMY? 

The  enormous  significance  of  the  power  of  habit 
is  never  fully  realized.  Habit  is,  in  a  sense,  the  taking 
of  a  particular  direction.  When  once  it  has  been  en- 
tered upon,  the  human  individual  is  no  longer  a  mere  pos- 
sibility, that  may  be  realized  in  any  one  of  a  thousand 
different  ways.  One  of  the  possible  ways  has  been  se- 
lected, only  one  result  can  now  be  realized;  and  that 
result  can  no  more  be  undone  than  the  yesterdays  can  be 
recalled.  But  none  of  us  is  deeply  impressed  with  this 
fatal  truth.  We  recognize  and  acknowledge  the  real 
power  of  habit  only  when  it  "sports"  with  us  or  others. 
When  the  mind  lets  go  its  supervision,  habit  leads  its  sub- 
ject into  ridiculous  situations.  Then  we  are  startled 
into  a  realization  that  we  have  a  real  and  merciless  mas- 
ter and  that  we  are  slaves. 

Every  reader  can  recall  from  his  own  experience,  in- 
stances in  which  inadvertently  the  mind  failed  to  make 
connection,  at  the  proper  time,  with  bodily  actions  that 
were  going  on  without  attention  under  the  strong  force 
of  habit;  and  the  ridiculous  situations  thus  created.  It 
is  these  instances  that  serve  best  to  show  what  habit 
means  to  the  individual  life.  The  writer  once  knew  a 


12  THE    ART    OF   STUDY 

gentleman  who  had  a  habit  of  changing  his  clothes  after 
caring  for  his  horse.  One  day  he  retired  to  his  room,  as 
usual;  but  he  was  in  a  hopeless  "brown  study/'  Now 
the  great  virtue  of  habit  is  that  it  does  its  worE  thor- 
oughly. All  that  is  needed  is  the  initial  impulse;  the 
"memory  of  the  spinal  cord"  will  do  the  rest.  He  took 
off  his  coat,  and  while  he  was  thinking  about  something 
else,  habit  completed  the  peeling  process  and  put  him 
to  bed  in  broad  daylight. 

When  once  the  attention  is  completely  withdrawn, 
and  the  mind  does  not  recover  the  thread  of  control  at 
the  proper  moment  either  because  it  is  preoccupied  or 
because  it  is  incapacitated  from  doing  so,  habit  follows 
its  purblind  course  and  puts  us  in  a  predicament. 

In  one  of  the  large  coast  cities  of  the  United  States, 
a  policeman,  early  one  morning,  found  a  Swedish  sailor 
clinging  to  the  wing  of  an  angel  surmounting  the  column 
of  a  fountain.  The  sailor's  song  was  rudely  interrupted, 
and  later  he  made  an  explanation  in  the  police  court.  He 
said,  "I  and  another  sailor  man  drank  some  alcohol.  Ay 
tank  I  see  de  ship."  The  judge  appreciated  the  point 
and  dismissed  the  case.  Habit  had  caught  the  intellect 
in  a  dazed  condition,  and  on  its  own  responsibility  had 
taken  the  physical  part  of  tlie  sailor  to  the  top  of  the 
monument  and  had  encouraged  him  to  take  a  reef  in  the 
bronze  wing  of  the  angel.  When  habit  sports  thus  with 
the  dignity  of  our  lives,  its  strength  receives  a  temporary 
recognition,  and  we  see  ourselves  as  helpless  as  little 
children  in  the  clutches  of  its  hundred  heavy  hands. 


HABIT:    FRIEND   OR   ENEMY  13 

Thoreau  tells  of  having  seen  on  a  freight  train,  hides 
that  had  been  shipped  to  Boston  from  the  South  Ameri- 
can pampas.  His  poetic  eyes  saw  that  their  tails  were 
still  sticking  up  defiantly  as  when  their  owners  ran  like 
mad  across  the  grassy  plains.  He  took  occasion  to  re- 
mark that  if  he  once  knew  a  man's  disposition  he  would 
look  for  no  change  in  it  this  side  the  grave. 

This  view  of  habit  seems  to  have  nothing  inspiring 
in  it.  Not  even  the  will  seems  to  be  taken  much  into 
account  when  once  the  law  of  habit  has  mastered  the 
chief  interests  of  life.  But  it  is  well  for  us  that  human 
lives  move  round  in  rigid  orbits,  ruled  by  the  law  of  habit. 
If  there  were  no  means  provided  in  our  organism  for 
making  acts  more  easy  to  perform  with  repetition,  there 
could  be  no  skill,  no  progress.  It  would  be  as  hard  for  a 
man  to  put  on  his  coat  at  forty  years  of  age  as  it  was  at 
the  age  of  four  or  five.  Even  the  rudiments  of  music 
would  be  beyond  our  reach.  We  could  not  dream  of, 
much  less  carry  out,  the  rapid,  complex  motions  by  which 
music  is  produced. 

The  race  would  perish  off  the  earth  without  help 
from  the  law  of  habit.  There  are  so  many  possible  ways 
of  doing  things,  that,  if  there  were  no  motive  of  any  sort 
for  repeating  them  in  the  same  way,  there  could  be  no 
continuity  of  action.  And  if  repetition  did  not  cause 
the  formation  of  a  habit  and  increase  the  ease  of  perform- 
ance, every  act  would  be  and  remain  a  matter  of  such  ex- 
treme difficulty  that  it  would  be  neither  pleasant  nor 
profitable. 


14  THE    ART   OF   STUDY 

The  force  of  habit  is  what  makes  expectation  possi- 
ble. It  produces  uniformity  of  action  on  the  part  of 
each  individual,  so  that  others  are  able  to  anticipate  what 
he  is  likely  to  do.  Our  friends  have  been  trustworthy, 
and  we  believe  that  they  will  remain  so.  If  a  man  lies 
once,  we  think  he  will  do  it  again.  These  things  are 
true  because  the  law  of  habit,  which  underlies  our  con- 
duct, forever  tends  to  produce  uniformity  of  action.  Oui 
judgment  of  every  man  is  based  on  the  firm  conviction 
that  he  will  always  act  in  the  same  way.  This  continued 
performance  of  acts  in  a  uniform  way  gives  him  an  indi- 
vidual character.  It  marks  him  out  and  distinguishes 
him  for  all  observers. 

National  character,  too,  that  remarkable  thing  thai 
seems  so  striking  to  the  young  student  of  history,  u 
merely  a  bundle  of  universal  habits.  A  well-established 
nation  has  its  own  peculiar  views  of  life,  and  ways  oi 
eating,  drinking,  working  and  amusing  itself.  These 
practices  have  arisen  slowly,  and  by  imitation  have  come 
to  characterize  every  individual.  And  people  of  differ- 
ent ages  reflect  the  effects  of  national  habit  as  clearlj 
as  an  individual  reveals  at  different  times  of  his  life,  the 
increasing  power  of  habit  over  his  doings. 

Children,  transported  from  their  native  land,  adopl 
by  imitation  the  national  habits  of  their  adopted  country, 
Ancestral  habit  has  only  a  minor  effect  on  them.  Thej 
may,  on  growing  up,  still  harbor  a  desire  to  return  to  the 
land  of  their  nativity.  But  the  all-pervading  law  oi 
habit  has  unfitted  them  for  residence  there.  They  fail 


HABIT:    FRIEND   OR   ENEMY  15 

to  feel  at  home  where  there  are  habits  unlike  their  own. 

A  mature  man  retains  for  life  the  habits  of  his  na- 
tive land  and  early  childhood.  He  remains  a  stranger  to 
many  things  in  his  adopted  country,  because  the  old 
national  habits  cling  to  him;  he  can  no  longer  adjust 
himself  to  the  new  ones.  In  America,  where  there  are 
so  many  foreigners,  it  is  extremely  interesting  to  the 
student  of  the  law  of  habit,  to  compare  those  who  came 
from  Europe  as  adults,  with  their  descendants  of  the 
first  and  second  generations.  The  former  retain  the  an- 
cestral habits;  and  the  latter  have  discarded  them,  they 
are  a  new  type,  because  they  have  new  habits;  and  they 
have  new  habits  because  they  were  subjected  to  the  new 
conditions  during  life's  plastic  period. 

The  law  of  habit  is  what  makes  accumulation  of 
power  possible.  It  preserves  what  has  been  gained  and 
sets  the  mental  and  physical  forces  free  to  work  on  a 
higher  plane.  If  an  act  did  not  become  easier  with  repe- 
tition, the  results  of  that  act/  would  be  lost  as  soon  as  it 
was  performed.  The  best  product  of  a  boy's  first  effort 
to  make  a  bow  and  arrow  is  not  that  bow  and  arrow,  but 
the  permanent  effect  it  has  on  his  powers.  His  first  bow 
and  arrow  are  very  poor  products,  perhaps  so  poor  that 
they  are  practically  useless.  But  he  is  a  better  mechanic. 
His  judgment  in  the  selection  of  wood  and  his  skill  in 
cutting  are  better,  and  these  remain  with  him,  while  the 
bow  and  arrow  may  go  into  the  fire.  His  next  perform- 
ance is  based  upon  this  new  skill ;  and  it  in  turn  contrib- 
utes toward  his  permanent  power.  While  the  law  of 


16  THE   ART   OF   STUDY 

habit  dooms  us  to  live  out  our  lives  along  the  lines  in 
which  they  are  cast  in  youth,  this  same  law  makes  our 
action  along  those  lines  constantly  more  effective  through 
the  accumulation  of  power.  Our  knowledge,  like  our 
physical  acts,  becomes  mechanical.  If  the  law  of  habit 
did  not  take  charge  of  the  multiplication  table  and  reduce 
our  knowledge  of  it  to  the  "mechanical  stage,"  we  could 
never  make  progress  in  numbers. 

So  both  action  and  knowledge  are  committed  to  the 
keeping  of  the  law  of  habit,  with  the  result  that  the  con- 
scious powers  of  the  mind  are  left  permanently  free  to 
deal  with  new  questions.  The  mind  can  use  all  that  has 
been  gained,  without  the  necessity  of  reproducing  it  pain- 
fully when  it  is  wanted  again.  On  the  old  foundation  of 
action  and  knowledge  that  have  become  mechanical,  on 
the  modified  nervous  structure,  rest  our  skill  and  the  pos- 
sibility of  progress.  Over  these  dead  but  solid  acquisi- 
tions, the  powers  of  the  mind  rise  to  higher  thought  and 
action. 

The  student's  attitude  toward  this  all-powerful  law 
of  habit  needs  to  be  clearly  conceived  and  carefully  at- 
tended to.  It  is  his  most  powerful  friend  only  while  he 
remains  master  of  the  situation.  While  it  preserves  what 
has  been  gained  and  enables  the  mind  to  work  on  ever 
higher  levels,  it  may  put  the  mind  to  sleep  entirely.  The 
action  of  intellect  and  will  are  only  spasmodic  in  the  aver- 
age man,  because  he  has  become  a  creature  of  habit.  A 
new  kind  of  act  or  a  new  idea  startles  him,  and  he  repels 
it.  He  no  longer  has  a  growing  point.  The  student, 


HABIT:    FRIEND   OR    ENEMY  1? 

while  he  accumulates,  under  the  law  of  habit,  a  strong 
and  heavy  body  of  wood  in  the  trunk  of  knowledge,  must 
keep  the  terminal  bud  of  intellectual  action  alive  and 
healthy  and  directed  upward.  The  one  thing  that  he  has 
most  of  all  to  dread  is  that  this  bud  will  wither.  When 
it  is  dead,  the  intellectual  tree  may  long  remain  green, 
but  growth  is  over  with. 

The  history  of  both  men  and  nations  reveals  the 
steadying  effect  of  habit,  and  also  its  deadening  effect. 
Very  few  people  are  convinced  or  converted  by  argument. 
Most  men  believe  what  has  been  believed  and  do  as  their 
fathers  did.  Those  periods  are  rare  in  the  history  of 
humanity,  when  some  great  idea  has  worked  its  way  into 
the  minds  of  men  and  overthrown  the  views  of  the  past. 
But  even  when  such  a  change  has  come,  it  is  never  thor- 
oughly done  by  argument  upon  adults  who  were  trained 
in  the  older  views.  The  change  is  completely  worked  out 
only  in  the  younger  generation,  which  adopts  the  new 
views  while  mind  and  body  are  fresh.  The  older  views 
shrivel  and  die,  mostly  because  those  who  held  them  pass 
off  the  stage  of  power.  One  of  the  most  striking  in- 
stances of  this  truth  is  the  history  of  the  principles  that 
Darwin  promulgated.  Some  of  his  strongest  supporters, 
and  he  himself,  fell/  thair  his  views  must  make  progress, 
not  so  much  by  remodelling  the  opinions  of  older  men, 
as  by  capturing  the  young;  mind  of  the  world.  And  it  was 
so.  Not  by  argument,  but  by  training,  is  the  world 
slowly  moving  from  its  old  to  its  new  moorings ;  and  there 
it  is  held  again  by  the  conservative  force  of  habit. 


18  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

A  bookful  of  illustrations  might  be  written  to  show 
that  the  adoption  of  one  way  of  thinking,  one  line  of  ac- 
tion, one  direction  of  growth,  tends  to  shut  out  the  pos- 
sibility of  development  in  any  other  direction.  There  can 
be  but  little  hope  of  radical  change  after  the  individuality 
is  once  fixed.  A  habit  and  its  results,  either  in  a  person 
or  a  nation,  do  not  fall,  like  the  walls  of  Jericho,  at  the 
blast  of  trumpets.  The  will  may  in  most  matters  be 
normally  strong,  but  habit,  by  its  very  nature,  tends  to 
destroy  the  authority  of  will.  A  change  of  habit  requires 
not  only  a  change  of  mind,  but  of  body  as  well.  It  calls 
for  a  complete  reorganization  of  the  nervous  matter  of 
the  brain  and  spinal  cord. 

When  once  wrinkles  are  formed  in  a  coat  sleeve  it 
will  always  yield  along  the  lines  of  the  old  grooves  and 
ridges,  even  though  a  new  arm  be  thrust  into  it.  It  is  no 
longer  a  question  of  forming  a  set  of  wrinkles;  they  are 
there  and  must  be  ousted.  A  new  arm  in  the  sleeve  may 
force  modification,  but  it  cannot  drive  out  of  existence 
the  old  lines  of  weakness. 

Sometimes  the  pettiest  examples  illustrate  well  the  su- 
preme difficulty  of  change  in  either  knowledge  or  a  course 
of  action  or  of  growth.  One  of  my  students,  in  learning 
the  names  of  the  German  alphabet,  got  the  pronuncia 
tion  of  four  or  five  of  them  wrong.  He  wanted  to  cor- 
rect the  mistakes  from  the  outset,  but  no  amount  of  criti- 
cism had  any  apparent  effect.  Finally  he  set  himself  to 
work  with  tremendous  energy  and  succeeded.  But  it  cost 
him  at  least  four  or  five  times  as  much  energy  to  undo 


HABIT:    FRIEND  OR  ENEMY  19 

those  few  errors  as  it  had  originally  cost  him  to  learn  the 
whole  alphabet. 

This  principle  has  a  well  nigh  universal  application. 
Linnaeus  made  great  contributions  to  both  knowledge  and 
method  in  the  field  of  science;  and  his  doctrines  carried 
great  authority  with  them.  His  classification  of  plants 
was  fully  adopted  in  England  and  Germany,  but  not  so 
enthusiastically  in  France.  Where  then  would  the  nat- 
ural classification,  which  ran  counter  to  the  Linnaean 
classification,  be  most  likely  to  be  worked  out  and  most 
surely  take  root?  In  France.  England  and  Germany 
were  very  much  slower  in  accepting  the  natural  classifica- 
tion because  it  conflicted  with  beliefs  and  modes  of 
thought  already  current.  Wherever  a  belief  or  a  mode  of 
thought  has  once  been  fully  adopted,  a  new  one  is  always 
most  vigorously  resisted.  As  Bagehot  said:  "The  great- 
est pain  of  the  human  race  is  the  pain  of  a  new  idea." 

The  geological  history  of  the  pig  tribe  furnishes  ex- 
amples of  the  same  principle,  that  when  once  modification 
has  started  in  some  particular  direction,  it  is  practically 
impossible  to  wheel  about,  undo  the  results  and  start 
again  along  other  lines.  At  many  points  in  the  history 
of  the  pig  tribe,  ambitious  off-shoots  underwent  special 
modifications  and  became  adapted  to  special  conditions 
and  kinds  of  life.  Some  of  these  were  swifter  and  more 
graceful  than  the  typical  pig,  but  when  the  conditions 
changed  in  their  surroundings,  they  could  no  longer  adapt 
themselves  to  a  new  environment,  and  they  perished  from 
the  face  of  the  earth.  They  could  make  progress  only  in 


20  THE    ART   OF   STUDY 

the  direction  in  which  they  had  started.  The  typical  pig, 
with  its  general  powers  unmodified,  with  its  ability  to  live 
on  anything  anywhere,  under  any  conditions,  has  survived, 
with  piggish  obstinacy,  all  its  more  ambitious  relatives. 

Plants,  as  well  as  animals,  reveal  this  principle.  The 
Venus'  Fly-Trap,  that  peculiar,  highly-modified,  insect- 
catching  plant,  is  a  wonderful  creation,  with  astonishing 
adaptations  for  catching  insects.  But  it  is  the  only  spe- 
cies in  its  genus,  is  confined  to  a  small  area  in  North 
Carolina,  and  is  surely  doomed  to  perish  from  the  earth. 
Its  sister  genus  of  the  sundews,  which  manage  to  catch 
insects  by  much  simpler  means,  are  not  highly  modified, 
and  are  much  like  common  plants,  contains  three  hun- 
dred different  species  and  they  are  found  in  all  parts  of 
the  world. 

A  high  degree  of  adaptation  to  one  kind  of  life  shuts 
out  the  possibility  of  adaptation  to  any  other  kind.  In 
the  conduct  of  men,  long  indulgence  in  error  makes  a 
right  life  thereafter  a  practical  impossibility.  The  brand 
has  been  burned  into  the  very  tissues.  The  being  has 
been  changed.  When  once  the  mind  has  been  filled  with 
unsound  knowledge  and  has  been  trained  in  wrong 
methods  of  thought,  it  is  almost  impossible  to  remodel 
that  knowledge  and  those  ways  of  thinking  in  the  inter- 
ests of  truth. 

No  human  being  can  busy  himself  about  any  kind  of 
thing  without  forming  habits  of  action  and  thought. 
The  law  is  irresistible.  When  this  force  has  reached  its 
maximum  there  is  nothing  left  to  do,  for  the  vast  major- 


HABIT:    FRIEND   OR    ENEMY  21 

ity  of  men,  but  to  follow  the  lines  already  laid  down  and 
make  the  best  of  it,  unless  along  with  all  the  other  habits 
has  grown  strong  and  tall  the  habit  of  self-mastery.  If 
the  life  has  been  one  of  mental  and  moral  error,  it  is  not 
very  likely  to  turn  into  the  paths  of  truth  and  righteous- 
ness. The  most  it  can  do  is  to  stand  by  the  wayside  and 
beckon  "unmodified"  youth  into  the  right  path.  For 
rare  is  the  spirit  that  can  make  the  colossal  struggle  for 
release  from  these  laws  of  physical,  mental  and  moral 
change.  The  changes  must  come.  Habits  of  thought 
and  action  will  be  formed.  It  is  the  business  of  the  stu- 
dent to  see  to  it  that  he  sets  himself  in  the  right  direc- 
tion, that  his  habits  of  study,  of  thought,  of  conduct,  his 
views  of  life,  are  started  right.  Thenceforth  the  law  of 
habit  is  his  strongest  and  truest  friend.  It  makes  sure 
for  him  everything  that  he  has  struggled  for. 

He  must  see  to  it  that  his  powers  are  trained  to 
respond  to  his  best  desires.  The  mind  that  wills  to  do 
one  thing,  in  a  body  trained  to  do  another,  is  a  house 
divided  against  itself.  No  man  ever  realizes  his  ideals; 
and  perhaps  it  is  better  that  his  life  should  not  be  all 
planned  in  advance,  but  should  be  a  perpetual  readjust- 
ment to  new  and  unforeseen  conditions.  But  success,  in 
any  situation  into  which  a  man  may  be  thrown  by  circum- 
stances, can  never  come  to  one  with  a  divided  house.  A 
competent  mind  with  a  brain  and  body  trained  to  "come 
to  heel/'  cannot  be  a  failure  anywhere.  A  mind  and 
body,  well  trained  under  the  powerful  law  of  habit,  makes 
a  pure  and  vigorous  and  successful  life  normal  and  easy. 


22  THE    ART   OF   STUDY 

\\  hen  the  will  and  the  impulses  and  the  force  of  habit  are 
agreed  for  evil,  the  combination  makes  a  successful  villain; 
when  they  are  agreed  for  good,  no  combination  of  circum- 
stances can  make  a  man  a  failure.  But  when  the  house 
is  divided  against  itself,  the  product  is  no  man  at  all — 
only  a  thing  of  disgust. 

What  has  been  said  about  the  law  of  habit,  and  the 
irresistible  force  of  habit  has  been  said  primarily  for  the 
purpose  of  applying  it  to  the  question  of  education  from 
the  student's  own  point  of  view.  Success  depends  on 
the  careful  cooperation  of  all  the  powers  in  pursuit  of 
one  clearly  defined  object.  There  must  be  no  irrecon- 
cilable elements  in  the  character — will  to  do  one  thing 
with  habit?  trained  to  do  another.  From  this  point  of 
view  education  becomes  the  development  of  certain  hab- 
its. Every  chapter  in  this  book,  with  a  little  remodelling, 
could  be  made  a  subhead  under  the  general  subject  of 
habit. 


INTEREST 


CHAPTER  III. 

INTEREST. 

Half  a  dozen  people  may  be  speaking  at  once  close 
to  a  listener,  but  he  listens  only  to  a  single  voice.  He 
remains  oblivious  to  the  others  because  his  attention, 
guided  by  his  interest,  is  concentrated  on  that  one.  Our 
mental  capacity,  our  physical  powers,  are  monopolized  by 
that  which,  for  some  reason  or  other,  is  attractive  to  us. 
The  attraction  may  be  very  strong,  appealing  powerfully 
to  the  feelings ;  or  it  may  be  a  remote  attraction,  appeal- 
ing only  to  the  intellect.  It  is  not  my  purpose  to  enter 
into  an  analysis  of  the  nature  of  interest;  but  only  to 
point  out  some  of  its  practical  bearings  on  the  work  of 
the  student. 

Shall  a  student  pursue  only  those  things  that  spon- 
taneously interest  him?  If  he  must  develop  interest  in 
some  things  for  which  he  has  no  inherent  liking,  what 
kind  of  interest  shall  it  be  ?  Shall  the  burden  of  exciting 
the  student's  interest  in  his  work  be  laid  on  the  teacher's 
shoulders,  or  shall  the  student  hold  himself  responsible 
for  the  cultivation  of  genuine  interest  in  all  the  phases  of 
his  work? 

The  gravest  problem  that  teachers  have  to  deal  with 
is  that  of  awakening  and  sustaining  the  interest  of  the 


24  THE   ART   OF   STUDY 

student  in  his  studies.  There  is  less  hopeless  incapacity 
among  scholars  than  many  people  think.  The  high- 
schools  lose  more  students  after  the  first  year  or  two 
because  the  latter  have  lost  their  interest  in  the  work 
than  because  of  incapacity  or  the  grinding  necessity  of 
working  for  a  living.  Without  interest  in  a  thing  the 
intellect  will  not  work  upon  it ;  interest  is  the  fuel  to  the 
engine.  From  the  teacher's  point  of  view  the  student 
himself  is  the  responsible  party;  without  interest  on  his 
part  there  can  be  no  such  thing  as  education. 

The  reason  why  it  is  so  hard  to  teach  a  young  child 
is  because  its  attention  cannot  be  riveted.  It  has  no  in- 
terests that  last  for  more  than  a  minute  or  two.  It  has 
no  thought  for  its  own  future  hunger;  for  its  clothes  or 
its  nurture.  There  is  nothing  yet  permanently  fixed  in 
its  mind,  around  which  its  thought  and  its  action  revolve. 
It  is  interested  only  in  what  is  immediately  before  it; 
now  a  rag-doll  and  then  a  butterfly;  now  a  flower  and 
then  a  kitten.  It  does  not  know  how  to  postpone  a  pres- 
ent pleasure  for  a  future  pleasure  or  profit.  It  has  no 
organized  interests;  there  is  no  steady  purpose  running 
through  its  life.  Its  interest  and  attention  are  of  the 
wandering,  impulsive  type  that  flits  from  object  to  object 
as  each  strikes  its  fancy. 

As  it  is  with  the  child,  so  it  is  largely  with  the  sav- 
age. The  future,  even  the  immediate  future,  is  a  dim 
and  far  away  thing  that  has  little  or  no  bearing  on  pres- 
ent conduct.  Now  in  what  important  intellectual  respect 
does  the  highest  type  of  civilization  differ  from  the  men- 


INTEREST  25 

tal  attitude  of  the  savage  and  the  child?  It  may  be 
said  that  the  fundamental  quality  in  the  complex  con- 
ception that  we  call  civilization  is  the  quality  of  fore- 
sight, providence,  exercising  thought  and  energy  in  the 
present,  for  some  future  good.  To  the  civilized  man 
the  future  is  a  definite  thing,  to  be  taken  carefully  into 
account  both  for  himself  and  his  family.  Civilization 
makes  it  possible  to  look  steadily  into  the  future  and 
provide  for  it.  There  is  no  grave  daily  danger  that  our 
present  efforts  to  secure  some  future  good  will  come  to 
naught.  The  conditions  of  life  are  so  well  established 
that  we  are  confident  we  shall  be  allowed  to  reap  what 
we  have  sown.  It  is  this  condition  of  more  or  less  cer- 
tainty concerning  the  future  that  makes  us  willing  to 
sacrifice  present  pleasures  for  more  lasting  ones  that  will 
come  only  in  the  future. 

But  there  arises,  hourly,  in  every  mind,  the  question : 
"Shall  I  yield  to  my  present  impulse,  gratify  my  present 
interest,  or  sacrifice  these  and  bend  my  energies  to  secure 
some  better,  future  good?"  The  student  especially  is 
called  upon  to  face  squarely  this  issue;  because  the  very 
nature  of  his  calling  makes  it  necessary  to  decide  whether 
he  shall  serve  his  present  desires  and  interests,  or  make 
present  sacrifices  in  the  service  of  the  more  remote  and 
permanent  interests  of  his  life.  The  very  fact  that  he 
is  educating  himself  would  indicate  that  he  is  going 
through  the  process  of  getting  ready  for  something,  that 
all  his  present  labors  are  intended  to  yield  their  results 
many  years  hence.  He  is  supposed  to  be  sacrificing  time 


26  THE    ART   OF   STUDY 

and  money  and  energy  now  for  a  later  reward.  This 
principle  needs  to  be  enforced  in  the  details  of  a  student's 
work  as  well  as  in  the  larger  outlines  of  his  general  pur- 
pose. The  problem  perpetually  recurs:  "Is  it  worth 
while,  in  this  particular  case,  to  sacrifice  present  pleas- 
ure and  comfort  to  the  more  remote  good  ?" 

It  is  much  easier  to  preach  the  doctrine  of  the  sacri- 
fice of  present  interests  in  favor  of  the  remote  and  per- 
manent interests  than  it  is  to  persuade  men  of  its  value 
as  a  universal  principle  of  action.  In  recent  years  there 
has  been  much  discussion  of  the  question  of  good  roads 
in  the  country.  Now  good  roads  were  at  least  as  im- 
portant twenty  years  before  the  discussion  began  as  they 
are  now.  But  it  was  the  advent  of  the  bicycle  that  made 
the  question  a  vital  one.  Bad  roads  and  bicycles  do  not 
harmonize.  When  a  man  has  to  pedal  his  own  wheel  he 
makes  a  vigorous  disturbance  to  get  a  good  road.  He 
wants  his  labor  reduced  to  a  minimum.  If  a  farmer  had 
to  pull  his  own  wagon  it  would  be  to  him  an  invincible 
argument  in  favor  of  good  roads;  because  good  roads 
would  mean  the  removal  of  his  physical  distress.  An  im- 
mediate, present  interest  in  favor  of  good  roads  would  be 
developed  at  once. 

But  the  problem,  as  it  presents  itself  to  the  general 
population,  takes  the  form  of  alternatives.  The  farmer 
merely  wants  to  get  to  town  and  back.  It  is  easier  for 
him  to  struggle  over  a  bad  road,  carry  a  smaller  load, 
worry  his  horses,  lose  time  and  vex  his  temper,  than  to 
stop  and  improve  the  road  before  driving  over  it.  It  is 


INTEREST  27 

cheaper,  easier  and  more  to  his  present  interest,  to  leave 
the  road  as  it  is.  To  improve  the  road  would  mean  a 
large  present  sacrifice  for  a  series  of  comparatively  small 
benefits  distributed  over  a  long  future.  In  the  short  run 
it  is  better  to  leave  things  as  they  are ;  but  in  the  long  run 
the  farmers  horses  and  wagons  would  look  better,  accom- 
plish more  and  last  longer,  and  he  would  be  richer  and 
happier  and  would  keep  in  closer  touch  with  civilization 
if  he  would  make  the  present  sacrifice  for  the  future 
good;  if  he  would  let  his  remote  interests  determine  his 
line  of  action.  The  important  point  about  all  this  is  that 
the  big  sacrifice  will  occur  but  once,  and  the  benefits  will 
be  constant  and  will  affect  every  phase  of  his  life  and  busi- 
ness. 

It  is  said  that  in  Africa  there  are  well-beaten  trails 
that  mn  as  straight  as  the  flight  of  a  crow  for  hundreds 
of  miles  through  the  great  forests.  But  there  is  hardly 
a  rod  of  such  a  trail  that  does  not  have  a  little  bend  in 
it.  It  turns  first  to  the  right  and  then  to  the  left,  as 
if  a  flying  crow  had  carried  a  swinging  pendulum  to  mark 
the  course  of  the  trail.  Even  savages  know  how  to  travel 
a  straight  course  for  a  hundred  miles,  but  they  cannot 
keep  the  little  curves  and  zigzags  out  of  the  trail.  It  is 
easier  for  each  individual,  on  every  occasion  when  he 
comes  to  a  rock  or  a  stump  or  fallen  tree,  to  go  around 
it  than  to  remove  it.  In  the  long  run  it  would  be  profit- 
able to  remove  the  obstacles  by  combined  effort  of  the 
travellers,  and  straighten  the  trail.  But  on  each  separate 
occasion  that  the  obstacle  "arises,"  it  is  not  worth  while. 


28  THE    ART   OF   STUDY 

And  that  is  why  a  trail  that  runs  straight  across  the 
country  has  in  it  those  thousands  of  little  time-killing, 
back-breaking  crooks.  It  requires  leadership  and  a 
strong  impression  of  permanent  benefits  to  make  the 
present  sacrifice. 

There  are  other  problems  of  this  nature  in  which 
whole  nations  are  interested.  It  is  a  serious  thing  to 
decide  whether  a  whole  people  shall  make  a  large  sacri- 
fice of  present,  immediate  interests  to  secure  some  dis- 
tant permanent  good.  The  English-speaking  races  use  a 
language  whose  spelling  is  antiquated  and  ridiculous.  It 
takes  an  English-speaking  child  at  least  a  year  longer  to 
learn  to  read  its  mother  tongue  than  it  does  a  German 
child ;  because  each  sound  is  represented  by  several  differ- 
ent letters  or  combinations  of  letters  (as  in  lean,  though, 
doe,  no,  low),  and  often  the  same  letter  stands  for  several 
different  sounds.  Our  written  language  is  an  "asinine 
feast  of  sow-thistles"  set  before  our  children  in  their 
tenderest  years. 

Historically  this  crude  and  curious  spelling  is  inter- 
esting and  has  a  vast  significance;  but  practically  it  is  a 
millstone  about  the  necks  of  our  little  ones.  This  con- 
dition of  things  is  so  evidently  in  violation  of  the  so- 
called  practical  sense  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race,  and  such 
a  serious  crime  against  the  intellectual  possibilities  of 
that  race,  that  a  theorist  might  suppose  the  old  condition 
of  things  would  not  be  allowed  to  continue  for  a  single 
year. 

But    it   is    altogether    a    question    of    the   relative 


INTEREST  29 

strength  of  the  immediate  interests  01  ourselves  and  the 
remote  interests  of  our  children.  If  the  changes  that 
need  to  be  made  to  simplify  our  written  language  were 
only  slight,  or  if  large,  would  cause  no  serious,  even  tem- 
porary inconvenience  to  anyone,  the  change  would  be 
made  over  night.  And  we  would  congratulate  ourselves 
on  our  generous  foresight  for  the  good  of  those  that  are 
yet  to  come.  But  the  present  loss  of  time  and  money 
and  the  amount  of  energy  required  to  readjust  ourselves 
to  any  new  spelling  would  be  very  great ;  and  the  change 
cannot  be  made,  even  though  the  present  sacrifice  would 
be  but  a  driblet  compared  with  the  great  gain  to  the 
coming  generations.  The  remote  interests  suffer  utter 
collapse  because  the  conflicting  present  interests  are 
powerful. 

Now  education,  in  its  very  nature,  is  a  serious,  long- 
.drawn-out  attempt  to  sacrifice  present  convenience  and 
success  at  the  altar  of  the  remote  and  permanent  inter- 
ests of  human  life.  It  is  a  deliberate  attempt  to  build  a 
good  road  for  future  use.  And  the  student  who  is  the 
one  primarily  interested  in  this  business,  has  to  weigh 
the  matter  and  make  his  decision  in  the  face  of  obstacles. 


30  THE   ART   OF   STUDY 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SIMPLE   AND   COMPOUND   INTEREST. 

In  the  end,  all  lines  of  action  become  a  question  of 
forming  a  habit.  As  was  said  in  the  last  chapter,  the 
very  nature  of  a  student's  calling  is  the  best  evidence 
that  in  his  case  there  is  to  be  a  determined  sacrifice  of 
present  interests  for  the  purpose  of  securing  the  perma- 
nent benefits  that  can  be  reaped  only  in  later  years.  But 
every  human  being,  even  a  student,  tends  to  lapse  into 
the  haphazard,  hand-to-mouth  mode  of  life  in  which 
remote  interests  play  at  best  a  subordinate  and  only  sub- 
conscious part.  The  vital  question  with  the  student  is: 
shall  he  habitually  act  upon  impulse,  giving  thought  to 
and  securing  only  immediate  pleasant  results,  or  shall  he 
act  habitually  by  voluntary  effort,  with  a  view  to  making 
his  present  acts  yield  the  largest  possible  rewards  in  the 
more  distant  future? 

Since  everyone,  no  matter  what  his  calling,  meets 
things  in  which  he  takes  no  interest,  which  are  not  attrac- 
tive to  him,  which  may  even  be  distasteful,  the  student 
must  frequently  face  and  answer  the  question  whether 
he  will  pursue  only  those  things  that  please  him  now,  or 
whether  he  will  exercise  his  pugnacity  on  difficult  and  dis- 
tasteful things,  and  forever  dispose  of  them  by  doing 


SIMPLE  AND  COMPOUND  INTEREST  31 

them,  in  the  accomplishment  of  his  more  permanent  pur- 
poses. In  recent  years  the  courses  of  study  in  school  and 
college  have  been  so  enlarged  that  each  student  is  sup- 
posed to  be  able  to  choose  only  those  things  that  he  can 
take  some  interest  in,  that  have  an  inherent  attraction 
for  him.  He  can  now  more  easily  and  thoroughly  pre- 
pare himself  for  the  calling  he  has  chosen,  because  he  is 
not  obliged  to  groan  and  labor  over  things  that  only  re- 
pel him.  But  while  the  modern  plan  of  elective  studies 
has  given  a  larger  and  stronger  interest  to  the  work  of 
each  individual,  the  fundamental  question  remains  the 
same.  Will  he  dodge  or  will  he  fight?  There  is  always 
and  everywhere  in  life  a  residue  of  uninteresting  matters 
that  have  to  be  considered  and  done,  if  any  kind  of 
definite  purpose  is  to  be  realized. 

If  one  is  merely  indifferent  to  a  line  of  work,  a  strong 
conviction  that  it  ought  to  be  done  for  the  sake  of 
more  remote  and  permanent  interests,  may  lead  one  to 
do  it  with  a  fair  degree  of  mental  and  physical  comfort. 
But  things  that  are  repugnant  at  the  outset  call  for 
something  more  than  an  ordinary  act  of  will.  When  no 
other  feeling  will  impel  to  action,  it  is  well  to  have  in 
reserve  the  feeling  of  anger  and  to  let  it  blaze  out  at  the 
thought  that  there  is  anything  in  the  way  of  success.  If 
one  has  no  interest  in  doing  a  difficult  or  repugnant  but 
necessary  thing,  one  can  still  interest  himself  by  crush- 
ing it  because  it  is  a  difficulty,  because  it  challenges  the 
fighting  qualities. 

I  know  of  no  other  spirit  in  which  to  face  that  in- 


32  THE   ART   OF   STUDY 

evitable  residue  of  unpleasant  work  that  every  student 
meets.  "Failure"  may  as  well  be  branded  at  the  out- 
set on  the  forehead  of  him  who  will  do  only  the  work 
that  is  pleasant  to  him  at  the  moment  he  decides  to  do  it. 
He  is  still  the  victim  of  his  own  impulses,  and  cannot 
subdue  his  intellect  and  will  to  the  service  of  a  steady  and 
useful  purpose.  He  may  be  a  genius,  but  he  is  not  a  man. 

But  while  one's  fighting  qualities  need  to  be  appealed 
to  at  many  points  in  a  career  of  study,  and  one  needs  to 
keep  steadily  in  mind  the  great  remote  end  of  all  the 
work  while  doing  what  is  now  uninteresting,  interest  in 
the  distasteful  thing  itself  begins  to  grow  as  the  work 
progresses.  The  doctrine  of  compound  interest  applies 
to  the  student's  work  as  well  as  to  the  capitalist's  money. 
Herbert  Spencer  wrote  many  pages  of  philosophy  to 
show  how  rapidly  effects  of  every  kind  are  multiplied  if 
the  force  at  work  is  only  constant.  For  purposes  of  cal- 
culation, the  rate  of  increase  at  compound  interest  is 
permanently  printed  in  tabular  form.  Jesus  Christ  put 
the  doctrine  into  a  sentence:  "Whosoever  hath,  to  him 
shall  be  given;  and  whosoever  hath  not,  from  him  shall 
be  taken  even  that  which  he  thinketh  that  he  hath." 

While  it  is  necessary  to  do  many  present  things  by 
sheer  force  of  will,  if  the  permanent  interests  of  life  are 
to  be  faithfully  served,  no  man  or  woman  of  spirit  needs 
to  feel  that  such  labor  must  remain  uninteresting  while 
it  lasts  or  leave  an  unpleasant  after-taste  in  memory.  As 
has  been  said,  we  are  necessarily  heedless  of  most  things 
that  happen  around  us ;  but  in  the  mind  that  is  quick  and 


SIMPLE   AND   COMPOUND   INTEREST  33 

not  dead,  alert  and  not  asleep,  interest  will  rise  from 
work  that  is  apparently  most  uninteresting;  and  when 
once  that  new,  immediate  interest  is  born,  it  is  not  likely 
to  die. 

A  friend  of  the  writer  had  to  support  himself  while 
preparing  for  entrance  into  college.  This  bread  and  but- 
ter interest  was  very  immediate,  pressing  and  constant. 
It  sharpened  amazingly  his  capacity  for  seeing  work  that 
needed  to  be  done.  One  day  he  saw  a  dilapidated  fence 
and  offered  to  repair  it  for  the  owner.  The  latter  did 
not  want  his  fence  patched.  He  wanted  a  new  one. 
"Can  you  build  me  a  new  fence  ?"  "Yes,  sir/'  And  the 
agreement  was  made.  With  the  young  man  it  was  a  case 
of  pure  self-assurance  that  had  been  cultivated  in  the 
hard  school  of  strenuous  endeavor.  Before  that  time  he 
had  no  interest  in  fences.  Why  should  he  work  at  things 
that  did  not  interest  him?  Fences  had  never  meant 
anything  to  him  except  that  they  were  things  to  climb 
over  or  crawl  through  or  tear  trousers  on. 

As  long  as  he  had  to  work  anyhow,  he  might  have 
hunted  longer,  until  he  found  a  job  that  was  easy.  If 
he  had  had  a  mind  to  follow  the  "lines  of  least  resist- 
ance/' he  would  have  avoided  the  fence.  But  he  was  not 
built  that  way.  His  mental  action  was  clear.  He 
wanted  an  education;  to  get  that  he  wanted  money;  to 
get  that  he  wanted  work.  He  would  have  had  no  inter- 
est in  fence-building,  if  the  more  remote  interest  of  an 
education  had  not  stimulated  him.  But  he  had  the 
capacity  for  developing  a  quick  and  immediate  interest 


34  THE   ART    OF    STUDY 

even  in  a  fence.  From  that  moment  every  fence  taught 
him  a  lesson.  Distances  between  posts,  the  number  of 
nails  used,  the  depth  of  post-holes,  all  had  a  lively  interest 
for  him.  Board  fence,  picket  fence,  iron  fence,  rail 
fence  each  taught  him  something.  Before  he  knew  it 
he  was  a  connoisseur  of  fences. 

He  built  a  good  fence  and  fairly  earned  his  money. 
But  he  did  something  far  more  important  than  either. 
He  had  developed  a  new  interest  and  a  new  habit — of 
studying  fences.  He  could  no  more  let  a  fence  alone 
than  a  dog  can  let  a  cat  alone.  Later  he  became  state 
entomologist  for  one  of  our  most  prosperous  states.  I  do 
not  think  his  knowledge  of  fences  secured  him  his  posi- 
tion; but  it  was  the  power  of  creating  a  new,  immediate 
interest  in  a  piece  of  work  undertaken  for  the  sake  of  his 
more  permanent  desires,  and  the  power  of  transforming 
that  temporary  interest  into  a  new  permanent  interest 
that  has  made  him  so  successful  in  life. 

Students  by  the  thousands  choose  to  prepare  them- 
selves for  special  callings,  but  are  unwilling  to  sacrifice 
their  feelings  in  making  the  necessary  preparation. 
Would-be  doctors  dislike  chemistry  and  physiology,  and 
study  as  little  of  them  as  possible,  and  do  that  little  in 
just  as  poor  a  fashion  as  the  law  allows.  Would-be  me- 
chanical, civil,  and  electrical  engineers  dislike  algebra, 
and  beg  t6  be  excused  from  it.  Would-be  lawyers  often 
feel  a  strong  distaste  for  history;  and  instead  of  exercis- 
ing their  manhood  in  a  little  matter  of  conquest,  they 
seek  to  belittle  the  importance  of  the  task  that  lies  be- 


SIMPLE    AND    COMPOUND    INTEREST  35 

fore  them  and  avoid  it  if  they  can.  One  must  have  some 
sort  of  interest,  either  temporary  or  permanent,  or  he 
will  not  act  at  all.  Every  student  is  bound  to  meet, 
sooner  or  later,  tasks  that  have  no  immediate  interest  for 
him;  and  there  is  no  choice  but  to  master  them  as  they 
come.  After  a  while  the  spirit  of  habitual  mastery  is 
developed,  and  nothing  seems  too  hard  or  too  repulsive. 
If  a  student  lacks  interest  in  a  task  he  can  substitute 
pugnacity  for  it  until  an  interest  is  developed;  and  that 
is  bound  to  follow  at  the  heels  of  the  first  success. 

The  difficulty  that  the  student  has  to  deal  with  is, 
that  with  all  of  us,  the  present  life  is  much  more  vivid 
and  real  than  what  is  yet  far  away.  Our  present  desires, 
pleasures,  comfort,  ease,  are  much  more  substantial  in 
our  eyes  than  any  distant  good  that  can  come  from  pres- 
ent effort.  A  present  sacrifice  is  easily  made  by  resolu- 
tion; but  it  is  another  matter  to  enforce  it.  So  in  the 
execution  of  a  fixed  purpose  to  have  an  education  for 
future  use,  our  present  interests,  our  momentary  im- 
pulses, are  always  interfering  with  the  steady  progress 
towards  the  fulfilment  of  the  distant  end.  But  no  man 
ever  made  a  path  that  was  worth  anything  who  kept  his 
eyes  fixed  on  his  feet  or  let  them  wander  at  random 
from  object  to  object  of  present  interest. 

A  hundred  men  might  tramp  over  a  plowed  field  and 
still  fail  to  make  a  path.  But,  if  one  of  them,  before  he 
started,  knew  where  he  was  going  and  kept  his  eye  fixed 
on  the  distant  object,  he  would  stumble  sturdily  over 
the  clods  instead  of  dodging  them  and  disregard  the 


36  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

dead-furrows  instead  of  trying  to  follow  them  for  com- 
fort's sake.  His  track  would  be  only  one  in  a  hundred. 
There  would  still  be  no  path.  But  his  track,  though  no 
deeper  than  any  other,  would  show  such  striking  charac- 
teristics that  an  observer  could  distinguish  it  at  once. 
The  strides  would  be  uniform,  there  would  be  plain  an 
utter  disregard  of  both  local  difficulties  and  temptations, 
and  the  track  would  be  straight.  If  that  man  were  to 
make  another  trip,  in  the  same  state  of  mind,  all  the 
tramping  of  the  ninety-nine  wonld  be  in  vain  and  dis- 
appear. His  track  would  be  the  trail,  and  they  all,  like 
sheep,  would  follow.  The  way-faring  man,  though  a 
fool,  would  not  err  therein;  and  maybe  in  his  lucid  mo- 
ments he  could  understand  the  reason  why  the  trail  ran 
where  it  did.  After  the  trail  was  made,  he,  too,  might 
accidentally  become  aware  of  the  object  on  which  the 
first  man's  eye  had  been  fixed. 

And  so  of  intellectual  results.  If  the  distant,  per- 
manent interests  are  always  kept  in  view,  the  local  and 
present  interests  are  easily  and  steadily  subordinated. 
Not  only  will  the  performance  be  easier,  but  the  very 
first  results  will  show  the  striking  characteristics  that 
all  labor  shows  which  is  intended,  not  to  gratify  the  im- 
pulses of  the  moment,  but  to  serve  the  ends  of  a  life- 
time. Work  done  in  that  spirit  with  such  a  motive,  is 
work  whose  results  are  useful  afterwards.  This,  to  my 
mind,  is  the  reason  why  every  stroke  of  a  student's  work 
should  be  done  with  the  ultimate  end  of  hi&-4abors  in 
view.  That  is  the  distinguishing  characteristic  of  all 


SIMPLE   AND    COMPOUND    INTEREST  37 

work  of  any  worth  that  has  ever  been  done  in  the  world; 
it  is  the  hallmark  of  every  permanent  product  of  the 
human  mind  that  is  valued  as  a  heritage  by  thinking 
men. 

Work  thus  done  once  is  ready  for  habit  to  fix  per- 
manently in  the  intellectual  structure.  Knowledge  thus 
gained  is  clear  and  purposeful,  and  its  impression  is 
deeper  than  that  made  in  random  trails  of  thought.  It 
is  easier  to  do  the  second  time,  and  one  is  more  likely 
to  do  it  again.  Intellectual  work  done  under  those  con- 
ditions has  "the  right  of  way."  If  the  main  purpose  of 
the  student's  life  is  kept  permanently  in  view,  he  learns 
more,  learns  it  better  and  more  rapidly  than  if  he  is  con- 
stantly consulting  his  temporary  comfort  and  conven- 
ience. 

Work  done  in  this  spirit  is  the  only  good  material 
for  habit  to  seize  upon.  If,  as  in  the  making  of  the 
trail,  the  student  promptly  repeats  his  work,  either  by 
reviewing  it  or  putting  it  to  immediate  and  regular  use, 
it  is  secure  against  all  the  so-called  faults  of  memory. 

To  my  thinking,  two  main  results  are  produced  by 
education,  both  of  which  depend  on  how  the  interest  of 
the  individual  is  centered,  and  both  of  which  may  be  ex- 
pressed in  terms  of  habit.  One  great  outcome  of  a  good 
education  is  the  ability  to  do  a  thing  correctly  and  skill- 
fully at  the  first  effort.  This  is  the  great  good  after 
which  students  consciously  or  unconsciously  strive.  And 
if  with  the  development  of  this  power  has  grown  a  bound- 
less love  of  truth,  the  student  has  entered  within  the 


38  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

sacred  gate  of  a  successful  intellectual  life.  But  this 
ability  is  the  fruit  of  long  and  silent  and  often  painful 
practice.  It  is  the  habit  of  doing  intellectual  work  with 
the  final  purpose  always  in  view. 

An  immortal  example  of  the  lasting  quality  of  the 
habit  of  doing  things  thoroughly,  once  for  all,  is  the  in- 
tellectual life  of  Charles  Darwin.  When,  as  a  young 
man,  he  made  the  famous  five  years'  voyage  in  Her 
Majesty's  Ship  Beagle,  he  had,  at  each  stopping  place, 
only  one  opportunity  to  make  scientific  observations.  If 
he  should  leave  any  of  his  work  inaccurate  and  incom- 
plete, it  must  remain  so  forever;  for  he  had  no  time  to 
return  in  order  to  make  additions  and  corrections,  a 
proceeding  that  is  chronic  with  most  students.  So  all  his 
great  powers  were  bent  to  the  service  of  his  permanent 
interests.  He  made  strenuous  and  constant  effort  to 
secure  fullness  and  accuracy  of  observation  in  order  that 
the  reasoning  afterwards  based  on  the  results  might  not 
be  defective  or  false.  This  trait  of  his  mental  action 
remained  a  habit  throughout  life.  It  stood  him  in  good 
stead  in  the  long  and  laborious  years  of  his  later  scientific 
career.  He  never  had  to  do  a  thing  twice. 

A  second  permanent  result  secured  to  the  good 
student  is  a  large  body  of  valuable  knowledge;  valuable 
because  it  is  accurate  and  can  be  depended  upon,  easily 
accessible  because  it  has  become  subject  to  the  law  of 
habit.  It  is  so  fixed,  that  when  one  item  recurs  to  the 
mind,  the  rest  comes  trooping  back  with  no  apparent 
effort  of  thought  to  recall  it.  It  has  become  mechanical. 


SIMPLE   AND    COMPOUND   INTEREST  39 

N"ot  only  the  alphabet,  the  multiplication  table,  the  de- 
clensions and  conjugations  of  foreign  languages,  but 
every  group  of  facts  that  belong  together  can,  by  prac- 
tice, be  subjected  to  the  law  of  habit  and  made  secure 
against  the  so-called  whims  of  memory. 

The  science  of  war  is  compressed  into  books;  but 
the  art  of  war  is  a  matter  of  nerve-training.  The  regu- 
lars fight  the  first  battles  and  hold  disaster  by  the  throat 
until  the  volunteers  are  ready.  The  difference  between 
them  is  that  with  the  regulars  obedience,  endurance  and 
courage  have  become  habits.  In  every  emergency  they 
can  do  the  right  thing  at  once.  They  not  only  know  what 
the  volunteers  know — but  they  have  developed  a  per- 
manent state  of  mind  in  regard  to  that  knowledge.  So 
with  the  scholar.  The  will  is  re-enforced  by  a  great 
body  of  accurate  knowledge  made  familiar  by  constant 
practice. 


THE  ART  OF   STUDY 


CHAPTER  V. 

ATTENTION. 

Attention  is  the  concentration  of  the  mental  pow- 
ers upon  a  single  object.  All  normal  human  beings  are 
capable  of  exercising  it.  The  student's  interest  in  the 
subject  therefore  relates  not  so  much  to  the  mere  exist- 
ence of  the  power  as  to  the  way  in  which  it  is  applied. 
The  surest  test  of  a  highly  trained  mind  is  the  power  of 
perfect  and  steady  concentration  of  the  attention  upon  a 
single  line  of  thought.  The  importance  of  this  power 
the  student  cannot  over-estimate. 

Now  a  little  child's  life  is  filled  with  attentiveness. 
But  it  is  not  the  kind  that  leads  to  any  kind  of  accom- 
plishment. A  beautiful  butterfly  attracts  it  so  strongly 
that  it  forgets  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  Its  toys  and 
its  mother's  admonition  not  to  wade  in  the  wet  grass  are 
forgotten  in  the  perfect  concentration  of  its  attention. 
But  a  beautiful  flower  takes  its  turn  at  beckoning  to  the 
mental  powers  of  the  child.  Then  the  flower  is  dropped 
for  something  else  that  is  new.  The  senses  are  busy,  but 
there  is  no  reflection.  The  attention  is  not  driven  to 
anything  by  the  force  of  the  will.  The  attraction  is 
from  the  outside,  and  the  response  to  it  is  always  imme- 
diate because  there  is  no  internal  thought  to  control  it. 


ATTENTION  41 

The  trouble  with  a  child's  attention  is  that  all  the  possi- 
bilities of  each  new  object  are  at  once  exhausted.  There 
is  nothing  new  about  it  any  more. 

Monotony  kills  attention;  and  the  child  has  no  new 
interest  in  the  thing.  Its  color,  its  form,  its  motion  are 
soon  observed  and  then  there  is  nothing  left.  Nothing 
but  thinking,  behind  the  working  of  the  five  senses,  can 
bring  out  new  views  of  the  old  thing;  but  that  is  just 
what  the  young  child  does  not  do.  It  has  no  permanent 
interest  in  butterflies  or  roses,  no  permanent  interests 
of  any  sort.  And  attention  cannot  be  steadily  held  on 
anything,  even  by  the  most  strenuous  act  of  the  will, 
without  a  motive  for  such  concentration. 

Culture  begins  with  the  fixing  of  the  attention  upon 
a  few  definite  things  by  direct  and  persistent  effort  of  the 
will.  And  it  will  be  worth  while  to  consider  a  little  the 
conditions  under  which  alone  this  power  can  be  culti- 
vated. 

Inability  to  concentrate  the  attention  and  keep  it 
fixed  is  the  most  striking  and  fateful  mark  of  a  weak  or 
untrained  mind.  But  there  are  certain  conditions  un- 
der which  the  most  highly  trained  mind  cannot  keep  the 
attention  riveted.  Everyone  has  felt  the  difficulty  of 
keeping  the  thought  and  imagination  fixed  on  a  single 
object  for  which  search  is  being  made  in  a  uniform  mass 
of  grass  or  sand.  Extreme  weariness  soon  kills  even  the 
desire  to  find  the  thing.  The  mind  persists  in  letting  go 
and  wandering;  and  it  requires  tremendous  will  power  to 
make  the  search  a  steady  and  prolonged  one.  The  object 


42  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

is  repeatedly  overlooked,  simply  because  the  image  of  it 
cannot  be  kept  clear,  and  the  mind  is  not  at  work  upon 
it.  There  is  no  food  for  thought.  Even  though  other 
'things  do  not  tend  to  distract  the  mind  by  their  attrac- 
tiveness, still  it  cannot  fix  and  hold  the  attention  on  any- 
thing that  does  not  stimulate  reflection.  Attention  can- 
not be  permanently  fixed  upon  anything  without  an  ac- 
companying train  of  thought. 

But  trains  of  thought  run  only  where  there  are 
tracks.  The  reason  why  the  child's  thought  does  not 
take  any  definite  direction  and  keep  it,  is  because  there 
are  no  permanent  interests  in  its  mind  sufficiently  well 
established  to  furnish  a  track  for  thought  to  run  upon. 
It  is  only  when,  by  active  thinking,  the  subject  that  the 
mind  is  now  attending  to,  can  be  made  a  part  of  some 
greater  subject,  can  be  connected  with  some  larger  and 
more  permanent  interest,  that  attention  can  be  riveted 
upon  it.  And  the  length  of  time  during  which  interest 
can  be  kept  riveted  upon  a  subject,  or  the  number  of 
times  it  can  be  brought  back  to  it,  will  usually  depend 
upon  the  number  of  ways  in  which  it  can  be  connected 
with  other  things,  that  are  already  known  or  have  been 
already  thought  about. 

The  monotonous  thump  of  an  Indian  drum,  as  it 
booms  across  the  moon-lit  lake  from  the  pines  where 
the  bucks  are  dancing,  to  the  tent  where  the  listener  lies 
awake,  may  attract  his  attention  for  only  an  instant  and 
then  be  neglected  as  nothing  but  a  dull  and  stupid  sound. 
But  if  other  things  are  called  up  by  it,  if  it  has  meaning 


ATTENTION  43 

for  him,  it  may  be  weird  and  beautiful  music  and  awaken 
wonderful  trains  of  thought  and  feeling.  The  mind  will 
muse  on  prehistoric  man  and  on  the  fate  of  the  race; 
wonder  whether  civilization  makes  men  happier;  and 
ever  and  ever  come  back  to  catch  anew  the  heavy,  musical 
beat,  and  then  to  follow  away  some  other  new  thought 
into  the  future  or  the  past.  As  long  as  the  sound 
awakens  thought,  it  will  make  the  imagination  dance  its 
beautiful  maze  across  the  hard,  resounding  floor  of  rea- 
son. But  when  it  ceases  to  do  this,  it  will  no  longer  be 
attended  to. 

There  is  only  one  alternative.  When  once  the  sound 
has  ceased  to  waken  thought,  attention  may  for  a  time 
be  riveted  on  it  by  sheer  force  of  will.  By  the  shutting 
out  all  other  objects  of  thought  that  are  attractive,  that 
dull,  monotonous  sound  is  given  full  control,  and  puts 
both  the  mind  and  the  man  to  sleep.  The  surest  way  to 
cultivate  an  attitude  of  non-attention — of  waking  sleep  or 
actual  sleep — is  to  exclude  from  the  mind  all  objects 
upon  which  the  imagination  can  play,  and  keep  the  at- 
tention fixed  by  force  of  will  upon  something  that  will 
not  grow,  that  does  not  waken  the  thought.  Utter  ex- 
haustion, entire  withdrawal  of  the  mind — sleep — inter- 
venes. 

Whether  the  beautiful  Minnehaha  falls  shall  rivet 
the  attention  for  only  a  few  minutes  or  for  hours,  depends 
on  whether  the  mind  sees  something  new  in  it  or  con- 
nected with  it,  with  every  passing  moment.  .  Attention 
dies  of  thirst  in  the  mental  desert  of  monotony.  Whether 


44  THE   ART    OF    STUDY 

the  glint  and  flash  and  music  of  the  water  shall  hold 
the  mind  fixed  upon  the  beauty  of  the  falls  depends  on 
whether  their  charms  are  kept  new  and  the  feelings  are 
kept  fresh.  The  water  may  still  be  there  and  its  music 
be  just  as  loud,  but  they  will  be  seen  and  heard  only 
while  they  are  suggestive.  As  soon  as  they  cease  to  sug- 
gest new  associations  the  subject  will  be  dropped.  The 
continuous  sight  and  sound  of  Minnehaha,  if  other  sub- 
jects of  thought  are  excluded,  will  dull  the  faculties  and 
bring  on  drowsiness. 

The  mind  may  be  startled  into  new  activity  by 
merely  stopping  the  ears.  The  sight  without  the  sound 
wakens  an  entirely  new  train  of  thought.  The  light  and 
limpid  silence,  the  beauty  without  the  music,  touches  and 
wakens  hitherto  unknown  phases  of  feeling.  So,  too, 
when  the  eyes  are  shut,  the  sound  alone  is  different  from 
what  it  is  when  coupled  with  the  sight.  It  conjures  up 
old  thoughts  and  wakens  new  ones  by  linking  itself  with 
other,  long-forgotten  sounds. 

The  scientific  side  of  the  subject  seems  a  more  som- 
bre topic  of  attention;  but  it  is  even  more  fruitful  in  its 
effects.  Why  is  it  a  falls,  and  not  a  rapids?  Why 
could  we  walk  under  and  behind  the  falls  and  look  out 
through  the  watery  veil?  Simple  problem  with  a  simple 
solution,  if  only  the  mind  has  grappling  hooks  with  which 
to  fasten  the  attention. 

The  solid  rock  above,  the  softer  rock  beneath,  the 
rhythmic  flashes  and  the  musical  roar  of  the  falling  water, 
the  cool,  damp  shade,  the  spirit  of  Minnehaha,  bride  of 


ATTENTION  45 

Hiawatha,  images  of  swollen  waters  in  the  springtime 
and  frozen  wonders  in  the  winter,  and  last  of  all  perhaps 
the  thought  that  the  beautiful  falls  is  dying  for  want  of 
a  steady  water-supply,  all  hold  the  attention  fixed.  It 
needs  no  coercion  while  the  topic  grows  into  manifold 
trains  of  thought.  The  will  seems  indeed  to  be  itself 
coerced  to  let  the  mind  attend  to  the  expanding  thought. 
The  little  falls  may  thus  grow  and  change  and  fasten 
itself  to  a  thousand  memories  of  other  times  till  it  has 
become  a  permanent  part  of  the  intellectual  life.  The 
memory  of  it  remains  rich  and  fruitful,  for  whenever  it 
comes  back  to  mind  on  the  wings  of  the  imagination,  it 
brings  with  it  the  deepest  thoughts  and  purest  feelings  of 
the  human  soul. 

From  the  student's  point  of  view  the  effect  of  the 
will  upon  attention  needs  to  be  kept  constantly  in  view. 
If  a  subject  is  not  sufficiently  interesting  to  hold  the  at- 
tention, if  it  does  not  awaken  thought  and  so  make  itself 
attractive,  the  will  must  be  exercised.  For  it  is  the 
student's  chief  business  to  so  train  the  attention  that  it 
can  be  steadily  fixed.  If  he  recognizes  clearly  the  fact 
that,  in  order  to  make  attention  steady  and  persistent, 
the  subject  attended  to  must  waken  thought,  his  duty 
lies  plain  before  him.  For  a  short  time  attention  can  be 
fixed  on  an  uninteresting  thing  by  force,  but  hardly  for 
more  than  an  instant.  There  is  often  recognizable  a  curi- 
ous, instantaneous  effort  to  develop  the  object  of  atten- 
tion— that  is,  to  analyze  it,  explain  it,  call  up  associations 
for  it,  to  assign  a  place  for  it  in  our  scheme  of  knowl- 


46  THE   ART   OF   STUDY 

edge.  And  this  is  the  point  at  which  the  student's  effort 
must  be  directed  in  cultivating  steady  attention. 

He  constantly  meets  things  that  are  not  directly 
interesting  but  that  need  to  be  considered  at  once,  for 
the  good  they  will  do  afterwards.  He  is  therefore  under 
the  stern  necessity  of  making  a  practice  of  concentrating 
his  attention  by  force  of  will,  and  as  soon  as  it  is  fixed, 
of  seeking  by  every  means  to  start  trains  of  thought 
about  the  subject,  to  develop  it,  to  make  it  grow  upon 
the  mind,  so  that  there  will  promptly  arise  a  direct  inter- 
est in  the  thing  itself.  Then  the  mind  pursues  the  sub- 
ject for  what  there  is  in  it. 

It  has  already  been  pointed  out  that  if  the  student's 
great  purpose  is  strong  and  clear,  and  constantly  kept  in 
view,  it  has  a  profound  effect  on  his  present  labors.  It 
prevents  the  shiftiness  that  makes  the  average  life  so  in- 
effective. This  remote  interest  can  never  be  lost  sight 
of  without  disaster  to  the  student's  intellectual  growth, 
for  it  is  the  anchor  of  his  life.  Local  and  present  diffi- 
culties are  overcome,  instead  of  being  dodged,  only  in 
the  presence  of  a  far-off,  permanent,  over-powering  good 
that  is  constantly  kept  in  view. 

Dun's  great  commercial  agency  secures  and  furnishes 
to  business  houses  information  concerning  the  commer- 
cial standing  and  integrity  of  every  business  man  in  the 
country  who  wishes  to  have  dealings  with  them.  It  asks 
the  individual  himself  to  give  the  details  of  his  own  busi- 
ness standing  and  to  give  references,  from  whom  the 
agency  can  make  independent  inquiry  about  him.  One  of 


ATTENTION  47 

the  curious  and  apparently  irrelevant  questions  that  it 
asks  is,  "Is  he  married?"  What  can  the  answer  to  that 
question  have  to  do  with  a  man's  commercial  standing 
and  integrity? 

In  the  long  run,  and  in  determining  the  average 
value  of  men,  the  answer  has  a  good  deal  to  do  with  them. 
A  family  dependent  on  him  gives  to  a  man  permanent 
pleasures  that  he  will  not  readily  forego,  and  life-long 
obligations  which  as  a  rule  he  will  not  voluntarily  lay 
aside.  It  is  not  so  easy  for  him  to  "quit  and  begin  over 
again."  It  turns  his  business  into  a  means  to  a  higher 
and  permanent  end.  He  is  more  certain  to  have  steady 
habits,  to  conserve  his  powers  for  legitimate  purposes,  to 
bend  his  energies  steadily  to  the  accomplishment  of  what 
he  undertakes.  His  family  is  the  surest  pledge  that  he 
will  make  a  success  of  himself,  because  his  attention  is 
permanently  concentrated  on  one  object.  And  because 
his  attention  is  permanently  fixed  on  that  one  object,  he 
will  also  fix  it,  by  force  of  will  or  in  any  other  possible 
way,  upon  every  detail  of  his  business. 

Such  a  permanent  interest  as  the  student's  ambition 
for  an  education,  and  the  desire  to  realize  clearly  con- 
ceived ideals  and  willingness  to  make  sacrifices  for  them, 
if  allowed  to  exercise  their  full  influence  on  the  details 
of  the  daily  work,  throw  those  petty  details  into  an  en- 
tirely new  light,  give  them  an  interest  of  their  own, 
as  a  necessary  part  of  the  great  whole.  The  perfection 
of  any  part  of  our  knowledge  seems  to  bear  a  direct  rela- 
tion to  its  importance  in  the  scheme  as  a  whole.  What- 


48  THE   ART    OF    STUDY 

ever  seems  unimportant  to  the  main  purpose  is  not  likely 
to  receive  the  attention  of  the  individual,  and  if  it  does 
not  receive  his  attention  it  will  be  indefinite,  hazy  and 
worthless. 

The  woodsman  who  spends  the  prime  of  his  life  in 
the  forest,  hunting  information  about  pine  lands,  devel- 
ops all  the  skill  of  an  expert.  He  sees  every  pine,  can 
estimate  accurately  the  number  of  feet  of  lumber  the 
land  will  yield  per  acre  or  quarter  section,  notes  carefully 
the  distances  to  the  banks  of  streams,  and  the  character  of 
the  land,  whether  dry  or  swampy.  He  is  very  alert  for 
everything  that  has  a  direct  bearing  on  his  business. 
Along  with  this  essential  information,  and  skill  in  finding 
and  handling  it,  he  has  accumulated  a  large  mass  of 
collateral  information.  He  thinks  he  knows  the  differ- 
ent kinds  of  trees  in  the  forest  well.  He  would  resent 
an  insinuation  that  he  did  not  know  all  about  elms.  He 
can  recognize  one  as  far  as  it  can  be  seen.  But  if  he 
were  required  to  give  the  information  on  which  to  base 
a  scientific  definition  of  an  elm-tree,  if  he  were  asked  to 
describe  the  peculiar  qualities  of  the  elm  by  which  he 
recognized  it  he  might  be  at  an  utter  loss.  He  is  what  is 
called  an  impressionist.  He  knows  the  elm  as  a  whole, 
that  it  is  different  from  all  other  trees;  but  he  may  be 
utterly  unable  to  give  a  good  description  of  the  mode  of 
liranrhinsr,  the  shape  ami  character  of  the  leaves,  and  the 
peculiar  way  in  which  the  bark  is  cracked — the  characters 
on  which  the  impression  as  a  whole  depends.  And  if  he 
fails,  the  reason  is,  that  his  attention  was  never  fixed  on 
each  one  separately. 


ATTENTION  49 

It  may  sound  like  a  hard  saying,  but  the  great  bulk 
of  what  we  know  belongs  in  the  same  class  with  the 
pine-hunter's  knowledge  of  the  elm.  It  is  this  kind  of 
knowledge  that  makes  boys  and  girls  say  frankly,  "I 
know,  but  I  can't  tell  it";  and  causes  grown  men  and 
women  to  give  somewhat  more  elegant  apologies  for  the 
indefmiteness  of  what  they  know.  We  cannot  define  the 
commonest  things,  though  we  may  know  enough  to  recog- 
nize them,  and  we  may  know  what  they  are  for. 

The  reason  for  this  is  not  far  to  seek,  but  much  more 
difficult  to  overcome.  Our  knowledge  of  nearly  all  things 
never  had  its  start  from  a  sharp  act  of  attention,  followed 
by  careful  consideration  and  association  of  this  new 
knowledge  with  what  we  already  know.  Like  Topsy,  it 
was  not  born,  it  only  "growed,"  bit  by  bit,  until  we  think 
we  know  a  lot  of  things  that  we  do  not  know  at  all.  It  was 
"absorbed/'  Such  knowledge  always  lacks  both  accuracy 
and  clearness  of  detail. 

Imperfection  of  voluntary  attention  is  a  general 
characteristic  of  the  human  mind.  It  is  the  chief  cause  of 
the  infinite  imperfection  of  our  knowledge  as  compared, 
not  with  ideal  knowledge,  but  with  what  it  might  actually 
be. 

A  class  of  eight  fairly  bright,  well-read  young  men 
was  reading  Irving's  Alhambra,  and  each  in  turn  was 
called  upon  to  define  and  distinguish  the  two  words 
elegance  and  grandeur.  Everyone  made  the  attempt;  no 
one  felt  that  he  did  not  know;  but  no  one  could  do  it 
satisfactorily.  The  saying  from  the  primary  grades  "I 


60  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

know  but  I  can't  tell"  was  quoted  to  them,  and  they 
accepted  it  as  a  good  description  of  their  condition.  A 
curious  companion  piece  to  this  is  the  fact  that  in  the 
same  lesson  occurred  several  words  which  none  of  them 
had  ever  seen  before.  These  they  had  to  look  up  care- 
fully, and  they  gave  correct  definitions  for  all  of  them. 
They  had  all  seen  the  words  elegance  and  grandeur 
scores  of  times  in  their  reading,  and  had  often  used 
them.  When  asked  why  they  were  content  to  leave 
matters  thus  when  the  very  purpose  of  their  reading  was 
to  study  the  style  of  Irving,  they  answered  that  they 
thought  they  knew. 

They  depended  on  something  that  they  never  had. 
Tln-y  never  did  know  the  meanings  of  elegance  and  grand- 
eur and  the  distinction  between  them.  They  felt  some- 
thing in  connection  with  the  two  words  and  that  was  all. 
The  reason  for  this  condition  of  things  lies  near  at 
hand.  The  attention  had  never  been  deliberately  directed 
toward  the  meaning  of  either  word.  Not  one  of  the  class 
had  ever  studied  carefully  either  word  separately  or  the 
two  together  for  purposes  of  comparison  and  discrim- 
ination. Their  knowledge  of  the  two  words  had,  uncon- 
sciously and  without  effort,  been  absorbed,  bit  by  bit, 
during  a  long  period  of  time,  from  the  various  contexts 
in  which  they  had  been  seen  and  heard.  These  students 
saw  the  distinction  between  the  words  "through  a  glass, 
darkly."  Not  one  of  them  had  ever  attended  to  the  ele- 
ments that  go  to  make  up  the  conception  of  grandeur. 

The  facts  set  forth  in  the  preceding  paragraphs  have 


ATTENTION  51 

another  important  lesson  for  the  student.  Not  only  was 
the  knowledge  of  those  young  men  very  imperfect,  but 
the  chances,  as  shown  above,  were  all  against  their  ever 
improving  it.  The  two  words  with  which  they  were  more 
or  less  familiar  and  which  they  were  likely  to  meet  again 
at  every  turn  whenever  they  read  good  literature,  were 
left  without  attention;  while  other  words,  which  they 
had  never  met  before  and  were  never  likely  to  meet 
again,  they  studied  very  carefully.  This  apparently 
strange  performance  is  not  abnormal,  but  perfectly  char- 
acteristic of  most  people. 

Direct  attention  to  the  significance  of  those  words, 
when  they  were  first  met  in  the  student's  intellectual 
career,  would  have  resulted  in  an  analysis  of  their  meaning 
and  an  accurate  understanding  of  what  they  stand  for.  If 
that  had  happened  at  the  outset,  every  later  recurrence 
of  the  word  grandeur  would  have  increased  its  signifi- 
cance. Thought  could  work  upon  it,  the  idea  could  grow. 
Every  new  context  would  add  some  new  suggestion  to 
the  old  meaning,  because  the  word  was  understood. 
Without  this  clear  understanding  of  the  idea  from  the 
outset  there  is  no  nucleus  to  which  new  experience  can 
cling,  and  it  fades  into  nothingness  again.  It  may  be 
laid  down  as  a  mental  axiom  that  knowledge  of  any 
subject  cannot  improve,  no  matter  how  much  it  is  studied, 
unless  strenuous  attention  is  given  to  the  first  stages  of 
that  knowledge,  so  that  there  will  be  a  nucleus  around 
which  the  later  additions  can  gather. 

If  attention  is  not  carefully  concentrated  upon  the 


62  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

first  steps,  it  is  not  likely  to  be  later;  it  is  not  easily 
fixed  upon  what  is  already  "familiar."  Our  lives  are  full 
of  the  proof  of  this  truth.  Men  and  women  listen  to 
soul-stirring  sermons  and  sing  inspiring  hymns  without 
a  twitch  of  muscle  or  a  tinge  of  color  in  thought  or  feel- 
ing,— not  because  they  do  not  believe  them,  but  because 
attention  has  been  withdrawn.  The  performance  of  these 
things  has  become  habitual, — it  is  a  mere  beating  of  time. 
Steady  attention  to  what  is  said  and  sung  would  result  in 
a  religious  upheaval.  Most  of  our  reading  is  like  this. 
The  movement  is  mechanical ;  there  is  no  thinking.  The 
idea  ceases  to  develop  and  the  attention  is  withdrawn. 
Like  the  organ-grinder,  we  turn  the  crank  all  day — and 
are  utterly  deaf  to  the  tune.  This  is  the  pit  that  the 
student  falls  into,  and  steep  and  slippery  are  the  sides 
thereof. 

It  is  infinitely  more  difficult  to  make  a  healthy  tree 
out  of  a  scrubby  little  plant  than  it  is  to  attend  carefully 
to  the  plant  from  the  time  the  seed  is  placed  in  the 
ground.  It  is  the  wrong  start  that  ruins  both  trees 
and  men.  It  is  the  wrong  start  that  makes  our  knowledge 
hazy  and  worthless.  A  far-reaching  interest  in  every 
detail  is  what  secures  attention  to  what  is  done  at  every 
step,  and  attention  to  each  detail,  especially  the  first  in 
the  series,  is  essential  to  success.  After  a  tree  is  once  well- 
started,  it  develops  resisting  powers  of  its  own.  It  can 
cope  with  conditions  around  it  on  its  own  account.  And 
if  one's  knowledge  of  a  subject  is  started  right,  by  close 
attention,  it  will  far  more  readily  grow  right  thereafter. 


ATTENTION  53 

When  the  mind  has  once  considered  a  subject  even 
in  the  crudest  and  most  haphazard  fashion,  it  is  not  very 
likely  to  get  reconsideration.  When  even  the  most  imper- 
fect attention  has  once  been  given  to  a  fact,  it  is  never 
likely  to  recover  from  the  effects  of  that  imperfection. 

It  is  this  kind  of  imperfection  of  attention  that  viti- 
ates so  much  of  every  student's  work.  Some  details,  of 
course,  have  no  vital  bearing  on  the  results.  One  may 
have  a  very  dear  friend  and  yet  not  know  the  color  of  his 
eyes.  This  might  be  called  an  insignificant  detail.  If  it 
were  important  to  know,  one  could  find  out  easily  at  the 
next  meeting  with  that  friend.  But  in  a  student's  work, 
things  always  depend  on  each  other.  An  error  of  detail 
due  to  lack  of  attention,  vitiates  the  whole  result.  Once 
a  trifle  of  this  sort  nearly  forced  the  writer  out  of  college. 
A  railway  mail  clerk  sent  a  letter  addressed  to  a  town 
in  one  state  to  a  town  of  the  same  name  in  an  adjoining 
state.  He  was  apparently  more  familiar  with  the  town  in 
the  latter  state,  habit  was  in  its  favor,  the  presumption 
was  in  his  favor,  that  a  letter  coming  from  that  direction 
was  intended  for  that  town.  The  postmaster  held  it  until 
it  came  up  to  be  advertised.  He  had  doubtless  handled 
the  letter  every  day.  But  attention  to  the  name  of  the 
state  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  That  had  been 
"attended  to"  long  ago.  The  chances  indeed  were  all 
against  its  being  attended  to,  because,  had  not  judgment 
been  pronounced?  The  necessity  of  advertising  created  a 
new  situation;  and  then  the  address  was  carefully  noted 
and  a  very  important  business  letter  was  forwarded. 


64  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

The  same  kind  of  importance  attaches  to  the  details 
of  a  student's  work,  because  each  depends  on  the  others 
for  its  value.  Of  his  work  especially  is  it  true  that  there 
are  twenty  ways  of  doing  it  wrong  and  there  is  only  one 
way  of  doing  it  right.  There  may  be  a  hundred  steps 
in  the  process,  and  a  single  error  at  any  point  destroys 
the  value  of  the  whole.  It  is  only  when  the  vital  impor- 
tance of  each  detail  to  the  value  of  the  results  as  a  whole 
is  fully  realized  that  attention  is  likely  to  be  habitually 
concentrated  on  each  detail  when  it  is  first  dealt  with. 

The  worst  errors  of  the  student  are  due,  not  to  ignor- 
ance but  to  lack  of  attention  at  every  point  to  all  the 
conditions  of  the  problem  or  question  that  he  is  dealing 
with,  which  he  really  understands  as  well  as  anyone  does. 
It  is  not  ignorance,  but  inattention,  that  spoils  so  much 
of  the  student's  work ;  whether  he  is  solving  a  problem  in 
algebra,  translating  a  Latin  sentence,  or  making  a  chem- 
ical experiment.  One  error  in  the  writing  of  a  plus  or 
minus  sign,  or  in  the  use  of  a  conjunction,  or  in  carelessly 
using  a  re-agent  from  the  wrong  bottle,  spoils  the  whole 
performance.  Many  never  learn  to  avoid  this  kind  of 
error.  In  every  instance  it  is  a  case  of  doing  one  thing 
and  thinking  of  another,  of  "keeping  the  hands  at  work 
and  giving  the  head  a  holiday."  Chronic  lapse  of  atten- 
tion from  the  vital  details  that  make  tip  the  whole  of  an 
algebraic  problem  or  the  problem  of  a  human  life  is  what 
keeps  the  ninety  and  nine  out  among  the  barren  hills 
of  failure.  And  steady,  strenuous,  habitual  concentration 
of  all  the  powers  of  the  mind,  so  that  each  detail  is  cor- 


ATTENTION  55 

rectly  dealt  with,  is  what  guides  the  hundredth  man 
through  the  beautiful  gates  of  success. 


56  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 


CHAPTER    VI. 

EFFECT   OF    MENTAL   ALERTNESS   ON    SCHOLARSHIP. 

One  of  the  ends  to  be  sought  in  the  training  of  at- 
tention is  a  habit  of  mental  alertness.  Facility  in  direct- 
ing and  riveting  the  attention  will  grow  silently  with  the 
years.  But  in  addition  to  that  will  be  developed  a  state  of 
expectation,  a  feeling  that  things  will  happen.  Even 
though  the  mind  may  often  be  mistaken  about  what  is 
going  to  happen,  the  chronic  attitude  of  alertness  keeps 
it  ready  to  receive  what  is  coming.  It  is  this  attitude 
of  readiness  that  makes  the  acquisition  of  new  knowl- 
edge so  easy  and  effective  in  the  trained  scholar. 

The  surest  way  for  either  a  small  boy  or  a  man  to  do 
the  least  amount  of  work  with  the  relatively  greatest 
expenditure  of  energy  and  waste  of  time  is  to  bring  his 
hoe  down  at  every  stroke  with  just  enough  force  to  miss 
cutting  the  weeds.  There  is  always  a  pathetic  feature 
about  the  second  stroke  of  the  hoe  at  a  weed.  The  worker 
has  reduced  himself  to  a  minimum  of  courage  by  previous 
failure,  for  courage  does  not  thrive  on  failure.  But  he 
also  reasons  that  the  weed,  being  already  half  cut,  does 
not  need  so  hard  a  stroke;  whereas  in  reality  the  weed, 
already  wounded  and  limp,  is  harder  to  cut  than  if  it 
had  been  done  at  the  first  blow.  The  lack  of  attention 


EFFECT   OF    MENTAL   ALERTNESS  57 

constantly  results  in  failure  to  adjust  the  effort  accurately 
to  the  results  to  be  accomplished.  Of  course,  the  real 
cause  of  the  inefficiency  may  be  laziness.  But  the  lazy 
man  is  always  the  hardest  worker  relatively,  because  he 
accomplishes  the  smallest  possible  results  with  the  effort 
that  he  does  make.  Keeping  busy,  either  voluntarily  or 
under  compulsion,  is  no  sign  that  valuable  work  is  being 
done.  Half  as  many  strokes  of  the  hoe,  carefully  gauged 
so  that  just  a  little  more  than  enough  energy  is  applied, 
will  cut  more  weeds,  and  cut  them  better.  Concentration 
of  the  mental  powers  on  the  work  in  hand  makes  weed- 
cutting  easier.  It  results  in  more  progress  with  less  effort. 
A  hot-air  furnace  can  be  made  to  devour  tons  of  coal 
without  ever  heating  a  single  room.  The  stoker  only  needs 
to  be  so  listless  that  he  does  not  put  in  quite  enough  coal 
and  fails  to  regulate  the  fire  properly.  The  coal  and  his 
time  are  utterly  wasted,  because  his  mind  was  not  given  to 
his  business  so  that  there  might  be  a  careful  adjustment 
of  the  fire  to  the  work  to  be  done.  The  main  object  is 
entirely  missed  because  the  attention  is  not  concentrated 
on  the  little  difference  between  failure  and  success.  Just 
a  little  more  time,  a  little  more  coal,  and  a  little  more 
brains,  all  of  them  available,  represent  the  difference 
between  a  cold  house  and  a  warm  one.  All  real  efficiency 
is  represented  by  the  surplus  energy,  by  the  last  small 
margin  of  effort.  But  that  last  effective  addition  to  ordi- 
nary fruitless  effort  is  never  made  unless  the  attention 
is  riveted  on  the  results  to  be  attained,  which  converts 
the  effort  into  a  means  to  an  end. 


68  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

Half  the  mental  energy  of  students  is  worse  than 
wasted  because  it  produces  no  results ;  it  cuts  no  weeds,  it 
heats  no  rooms.  An  obscure  impression  will  not  remain 
in  the  memory  at  all,  and  if  by  chance  it  is  recalled,  it  is 
valueless  because  it  lacks  clearness  of  detail  and  there  is 
always  uncertainty  whether  it  is  in  the  right  place  when  it 
does  come  back  to  the  mind.  Now  the  clearness  of  an  im- 
pression depends  directly  on  the  degree  to  which  the  mind 
was  concentrated  on  the  subject  when  that  impression  was 
made.  The  value  of  the  first  impression  depends  on  its  viv- 
idness, whether  the  matter  under  consideration  is  a  rule 
in  algebra  or  the  beauty  of  Minnehaha ;  and  vividness  de- 
pends on  the  intensity  of  attention. 

Steady  attention  makes  the  student's  knowledge  au- 
thoritative and  reliable.  He  knows  that  he  knows  it.  It  is 
easy  to  remember,  and  there  is  no  need  of  constantly  veri- 
fying it  whenever  it  is  used  afterwards.  Under  such 
conditions  a  spirit  of  confidence  is  bred  which  makes 
vigorous  mental  action  easy  and  pleasant.  Confidence 
that  what  has  been  done  is  correct,  because  carefully  at- 
tended to,  makes  new  work  stimulating  instead  of  de- 
pressing. 

Half  the  human  race,  even  in  civilized  countries,  dies 
before  the  age  of  twenty-one.  Many  disasters  resulting  in 
death  are  unavoidable.  But  at  least  a  very  large  propor- 
tion of  the  deaths  that  occur  before  the  natural  term  of 
life  is  complete  are  due  to  inattention  to  "minor  details/' 
In  an  algebraic  problem  these  details  have  their  true  value 
revealed  in  the  answer.  The  answer  to  an  error  in  the 


EFFECT   OF   MENTAL   ALERTNESS  50 

course  of  life  is  often  death.  One  man  breaks  his  neck 
by  walking  through  a  skylight,  another  is  killed  by  a 
falling  brick,  another  is  sent  into  eternity  by  an  explosion 
or  a  street  car.  Legions  of  lives  have  been  lost  or  per- 
manently crippled  by  measles  or  scarlet  fever  merely  be- 
cause the  sick  ones  did  not  stay  in  bed  long  enough. 
Neglect  of  the  first  chill  or  tickle  in  the  throat  is  the 
plus  or  minus  sign  in  the  problem,  and  the  answer  is 
often  pneumonia,  consumption,  death.  In  all  these  cases 
it  was  failure  to  attend  to  details  that  caused  the  trouble. 
Some  one  committed  an  avoidable  blunder. 

The  real  importance  of  a  detail  is  never  understood 
unless  it  is  attended  to.  A  detail  cannot  be  safely  neg- 
lected until  it  has  been  attended  to  and  the  mind  has  had 
an  opportunity  to  pass  upon  it.  The  argument  can,  of 
course,  be  made  that  constant,  strenuous  attention  to  ev- 
ery detail  would  produce  exhaustion,  and  that  is  true. 
But  habit  makes  even  attention  easy.  And  it  is  not  a 
question  whether,  at  a  given  moment,  the  mind  shall  be 
attentive  or  asleep.  During  waking  hours  it  is  always 
occupied  with  something.  The  only  question  is,  shall  it 
be  occupied  with  the  business  in  hand.  If  the  mind  is  in 
a  theatre  while  the  body  is  left  to  the  care  of  the  spinal 
cord  while  it  crosses  the  street,  there  is  likely  to  be  a  col- 
lision. It  is  not  a  question  of  wearing  out  the  mind  by 
constant  attention,  but  of  keeping  the  attention  fixed 
where  it  belongs. 

What  makes  it  so  difficult  to  train  the  attention  is 
that  steady  concentration  does  not  seem  necessary.     In 


60  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

the  ordinary  events  of  life,  it  is  possible  to  patch  up  a 
failure  by  doing  the  work  over  again.  The  consequences 
of  inattention  and  error  are  not  grievous  enough  to  startle 
the  mind  into  a  state  of  permanent  alertness.  We  are  to 
a  large  extent  protected  from  the  consequences  of  in- 
attention. But  if  men  would  take  a  long  look  around 
them  it  would  become  evident  at  once  that  only  a  very 
small  percentage  of  men  and  women  are  successful  in  any 
of  the  callings  of  life.  And  this  is  so  because  of  their 
chronic  indifference  to  each  detail  as  it  comes  up. 

Whether  a  drop  of  water  shall  go  into  the  Atlantic  or 
the  Pacific  may  depend  on  a  little  gust  of  wind  on  the 
Eocky  Mountain  water-shed.  After  it  has  fallen,  no  one 
is  likely  to  bring  it  back.  Whether  a  whole  passage  under 
translation  shall  be  misunderstood  may  depend  on  the 
careless  treatment  of  a  little  word  of  only  three  letters. 

Nearly  all  wild  animals  have  this  mental  alertness 
developed  in  an  intense  degree.  Birds  and  beasts  cannot 
ask  the  question  that  the  little  child  asks,  "What  comes 
next?"  But  they  all  know  that  something  serious  is 
likely  to  happen  at  any  time,  and  they  are  in  a  state  of 
chronic  readiness.  A  robin  will  hardly  pull  a  new-found 
worm  out  of  the  ground  without  first  taking  a  careful 
look  around.  When  the  humming-bird  is  perched,  its  head 
is  in  motion  all  the  time.  That  state  of  mind  is  what 
makes  it  possible  to  deal  effectively  and  correctly  with 
everything  that  comes  up  and  as  soon  as  it  comes  up. 

This  chronic  keenness  of  the  mental  powers  bears 
fruit  in  swift  and  accurate  results.  Expectation  may 


EFFECT    OF    MENTAL    ALERTNESS  61 

often  go  wrong;  but  no  kind  of  result  will  escape  atten- 
tion. When  I  was  a  young  boy  my  older  brother  and  I 
hunted  the  cattle  every  night  for  miles  up  and  down  the 
river  bottoms.  I  have  often  been  impressed  since  with  the 
fact  that  things  are  not  what  they  seem;  but  even  yet  it 
seems  to  me  that  a  cow-bell  is  the  most  deceptive  thing  in 
the  world.  It  was  always  so  important  that  we  should 
hear  the  bells  and  correctly  fix  their  direction  that  our 
powers  sometimes  seemed  to  run  away  with  us.  We 
seemed  to  hear  them  where  they  were  not.  These  were 
not  imaginings  of  a  roving  fancy.  We  had  to  deal  with 
hard,  cold  facts,  but  in  our  anxiety  to  hear  the  bells 
our  senses  deceived  us.  Alertness  led  us  into  some  mis- 
takes; but  we  never  failed  to  hear  the  bells  when  they 
did  ring  within  ear-shot;  because,  for  the  time  at  least, 
they  were  the  only  object  of  our  lives.  But  there  is  not 
much  danger  from  over-alertness.  The  danger  lies  in 
the  other  direction. 

The  timid  little  wild  rabbit  seems  to  be  anxious  all 
the  time.  Its  senses  are  acute  and  nothing  escapes 
its  notice.  But  the  skunk  is  extremely  careless.  The 
former's  future  depends  on  its  present  attentiveness. 
The  latter  has  an  obnoxious  means  of  defense.  It  can 
be  deliberate  and  careless  because  it  is  not  obliged  to  be 
alert. 

And  here  lies  open  before  us  the  reason  for  the  chronic 
inattention  of  civilized  youth  to  the  strenuous  things  of 
life.  Society  protects  its  individuals  from  harm.  We 
delegate  our  alertness  to  the  police  department  and  the 


62  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

fire  brigade.  The  search  for  food  and  other  comforts 
rests  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  older  members  of  the  com- 
munity. The  mind,  during  the  period  of  its  development, 
is  entirely  relieved  from  the  stress  of  life.  If  the  habit 
of  steady  and  close  attention  is  developed  during  that 
period,  it  must  be  entirely  voluntary.  There  is  no  coercion 
of  stern  necessity.  The  conditions  for  the  symmetrical 
development  of  the  intellectual  powers  are  ideal  in  the 
lives  of  American  youth.  The  educational  labors  placed 
before  them  are  carefully  selected.  They  are  so  graded 
that  they  cultivate  the  spirit  of  hope  and  the  desire 
to  make  the  struggle  for  mastery.  Ideals  are  fostered. 
But  the  factor  of  necessity  is  eliminated  and  the  oppor- 
tunities for  carelessness  become  terrible  temptations  be- 
cause no  fatal  consequences  immediately  follow  careless- 
ness and  inattention. 

The  importance  of  the  will  in  the  student's  success 
will  be  discussed  elsewhere.  But  he  needs  to  remember 
that  the  habit  of  steady  and  prolonged  concentration  of 
his  mental  powers,  however  this  attention  may  be  at- 
tracted or  riveted,  is  the  indispensable  condition  of  ac- 
curate, rapid  and  useful  work. 


OBSERVATION  63 


CHAPTER   VII. 

OBSERVATION. 

The  senses  either  directly  or  indirectly  furnish  us 
with  all  the  materials  of  human  knowledge.  All  the  ob- 
jects of  love  and  hate,  pain  and  pleasure,  come  into  the 
world  of  our  thought  through  the  medium  of  the  eyes 
and  ears  and  other  organs  of  sense.  Observation,  in  its 
broadest  sense,  is  therefore  the  first  great  step  in  the 
development  of  knowledge.  It  is  not,  however,  the  simple 
process  that  the  uncritical  mind  usually  thinks  it  is.  Good 
eyes  and  ears  are  no  guarantee  of  good  powers  of  observa- 
tion; for  if  it  were  so,  defects  in  those  powers  could  be 
cured  by  spectacles  and  ear-trumpets. 

Nor  is  mere  intentness  in  looking  at  a  thing  a  sure 
mark  of  good  observation.  A  calf  may  be  an  adept  at 
gazing,  but  very  much  of  a  fool,  even  from  the  calf  point 
of  view.  As  it  stands  and  looks  at  you  through  the  fence, 
it  is  manifestly  intent  enough  upon  what  is  passing  before 
it,  and  you  may  be  reasonably  sure  that  it  has  a  pair  of 
good  eyes;  but  there  is  no  sort  of  guarantee  that  by 
gazing  that  calf  has  learned  a  single  thing. 

The  controlling  factor  in  observation  is  not  the 
senses  but  the  mind.  One  cannot  drink  water  without 
swallowing;  no  more  can  anyone  see  or  hear — observe — 


64  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

without  thinking.  Observation  of  any  kind  really  involves 
the  action  of  all  the  powers  of  the  mind.  Observation 
means  both  looking  at  and  seeing  into  a  thing;  that  is 
scrutiny;  and  there  is  no  real  scrutiny  without  attention, 
comparison,  discrimination,  association  and  reflection. 

Good  observation  involves  not  only  looking  at  a  thing 
but  analyzing  it,  taking  it  to  pieces,  so  that  one  may 
know  what  it  is  made  of.  Many  people  who  live  in  sec- 
tions of  the  country  where  granite  is  the  common  rock, 
do  not  even  know  its  name.  They  simply  know  it  as 
"rock".  Others,  people  who  have  seen  other  kinds,  know 
enough  to  distinguish  granite  from  limestone;  but  they 
do  this  "by  the  look  of  the  rock,"  and  not  from  any 
detailed  knowledge  of  either  kind.  They  know  that  lime- 
stone is  gray  and  granite  another  kind  of  gray  or  even 
pink,  and  coarser.  But  anything  like  real  observation 
never  entered  into  the  question.  Their  knowledge  of  rock 
was  forced  on  them  from  the  outside,  not  developed  by 
any  internal  mental  activity. 

In  order  that  there  may  be  any  real  knowledge  of 
granite  it  needs  to  be  taken,  at  least  mentally,  to  pieces. 
A  real  observer,  though  he  may  never  have  seen  a  piece  of 
granite  before,  will  see  immediately  that  it  is  not  a  simple 
material  but  is  made  up  of  three  kinds  of  minerals;  and 
that  they  are  very  different  from  each  other — one  the  scaly 
mica,  one  the  more  or  less  transparent,  very  hard  and 
glassy-looking  quartz  that  breaks  unevenly,  and  third,  the 
moderately  hard,  white  or  pink  feldspar  that  breaks  with  a 
smooth  face.  After  he  has  thus  taken  the  granite  apart 


OBSERVATION  65 

he  really  knows  something  about  it.  He  can  put  it  to- 
gether again  mentally,  and  can  tell  why  granite  has  its 
own  peculiar  color  of  gray  or  pink  and  how  the  combina- 
tion of  the  three  minerals  produces  it. 

There  is  another  vital  step  in  the  process  of  observa- 
tion. After  the  granite  has  been  mentally  taken  apart 
and  put  together  again,  after  the  observer  has  exercised 
this  rathe?  unusual  gift  of  second  sight — to  steal  a  good 
word  from  a  vicious  environment — after  he  has  made 
the  analysis,  or  while  he  is  making  it,  he  will  compare 
"  the  rock  with  other  things  of  tlie  same  kind.  Either 
mentally  or  by  means  of  specimens  actually  at  hand,  he 
compares  it  with  gneiss  and  the  rest  of  the  granitic  series. 
And  now  he  is  in  a  position  to  judge  of  the  quality 
of  his  particular  kind  of  granite.  He  knows  where  it  be- 
longs among  its  kind ;  knows  whether  its  "grain"  is  coarse 
or  fine,  whether  it  will  make  a  good  building-stone  or  is 
good  for  nothing  but  a  road-bed. 

The  observer  may  now  stop,  or  he  may  carry  his 
observations  to  any  length  by  making  engineering  tests 
concerning  the  strength  of  the  rock  and  chemical  tests 
on  the  minerals  it  contains.  But  whether  he  goes  on  or 
stops,  whether  his  knowledge  of  granite  remains  relatively 
deep  or  shallow,  it  is  valuable,  because  the  process  of  get- 
ting it  was  correct.  It  may  not  be  absolutely  accurate, 
but  more  mental  action  of  the  same  kind  will  make  it 
accurate. 

It  is  clear  then  that  observation,  in  its  best  sense, 
is  not  a  simple  process ;  but  involves  the  exercise  of  all  the 


6«  THE   ART    OF    STUDY 

powers  of  the  mind.  It  is  a  question  of  getting  at  the 
facts.  And  what  is  true  of  granite  is  true  of  a  Latin  or  a 
German  sentence  or  of  any  other  subject.  It  involves  an- 
alysis. A  knowledge  of  a  sentence  involves  taking  it 
apart,  consideration  of  the  rules  of  construction,  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  words  and  their  meanings.  When  it  has  been 
analyzed,  so  that  its  components  are  known  and 
their  relations  to  each  other  are  clearly  understood,  it 
can  be  treated  as  a  unit  once  more ;  and  its  relation  with 
all  the  rest  of  the  passage  can  be  intelligently  determined. 
A  piece  of  knowledge  that  has  been  thus  dealt  with 
is  a  permanent  acquisition.  As  long  as  the  fire  of  the 
intellect  burns  that  bit  of  knowledge  will  glow. 

Defective  observation  furnishes  nearly  all  the 
stumbling  blocks  in  the  path  of  the  intellectual  life.  The 
materials  of  knowledge  upon  which  the  mind  depends  in 
making  up  its  judgments  are  so  uncertain  and  unreliable, 
that  half  the  effort  of  a  lifetime  is  spent  in  tinkering  into 
usable  shape  the  knowledge  that  we  already  have. 

No  observation  at  all  on  a  subject  is  infinitely  worse 
than  even  poor  observation.  Second-hand  knowledge,  the 
Imlk  of  the  contents  of  our  minds,  is  not  what  colors  our 
thoughts  and  gives  form  and  force  to  our  expression. 
The  mental  powers  cannot  play  without  blocks.  Nearly 
;il I  American  children  know  something  about  bears;  but 
most  of  them  never  saw  one.  They  have  no  good  image  of 
a  bear  to  think  with.  But  let  a  child  once  see  a  single 
bear;  that  bear  will  be  forever  after  the  type  of  all 
the  bears  it  reads  about.  The  size  and  shape,  and  move- 


OBSERVATION  67 

ments  of  that  particular  bear  have  affected  the  imagina- 
tion for  life.  That  is  the  picture  that  always  returns 
whenever  "bear"  is  mentioned.  It  is  the  one  real  thing, 
the  one  case  of  actual  observation,  that  has  yielded  a 
fertile  idea.  It  looms  out  of  and  gives  meaning  to 
the  great  mass  of  wordy  stuff  that  the  child  has  heard  and 
read  about  bears.  No  matter  how  many  bears  may 
be  seen  afterwards,  that  first  image,  which  came  when  the 
mind  was  wide  awake,  remains  the  type  and  most  inter- 
esting instance  of  ''bear  observation." 

Even  when  the  mind  is  dealing  only  indirectly  with 
facts,  when  it  is  romancing  most  vigorously,  the  power 
and  beauty  of  its  work  depend  upon  a  vast  store  of  actual 
facts  garnered  by  long  and  close  observation.  Great 
power  of  expression  is  developed  only  by  the  mind 
with  great  powers  of  observation.  If  it  comes  con- 
stantly in  contact  with  actual  things,  its  descriptions 
are  vivid,  its  style  is  lucid;  it  leaves  upon  the  reader 
an  overwhelming  sense  of  mastery.  What  is  said  has  the 
flavor  of  authority,  the  reader  submits  to  be  taught 
because  the  very  adjectives  and  figures  of  speech  reveal 
real  knowledge.  There  runs  through  the  style  an  ele- 
ment of  power  which  is  derived  only  from  long  and  close 
familiarity  with  facts. 

As  there  can  be  no  real  power  of  expression  or  style 
in  language  unless  the  mind  is  equipped  with  a  large 
body  of  concrete  facts,  so  no  mere  "strength  of  mind," 
without  such  facts,  will  ever  make  a  real  scholar.  Bacon 
has  given  us  a  picture  of  a  body  of  men  with  powerful 


38  THE    ART   O£    STUDY 

minds  but  with  little  substantial  knowledge.  He  found 
himself,  at  Cambridge,  England,  "amid  men  of  sharp  and 
strong  wits,  and  abundance  of  leisure,  and  small  variety 
of  reading,  their  wits  being  shut  up  in  the  cells  of  a  few 
authors,  chiefly  Aristotle,  their  dictator,  as  their  persons 
were  shut  up  in  the  cells  of  monasteries  and  colleges ;  and 
who,  knowing  little  history,  either  of  nature  or  time,  did, 
out  of  no  great  quantity  of  matter,  and  infinite  agitation 
of  wit,  spin  cobwebs  of  learning,  admirable  for  the  fine- 
ness of  thread,  and  work,  but  of  no  substance  or  profit". 

One  might  listen  till  the  end  of  the  world  to  lectures 
on  the  principles  of  Zoology  and  not  get  as  much  really 
valuable  knowledge  that  will  cling  to  the  mind  as  one  may 
get  by  looking  ten  minutes  at  a  fly  with  a  pocket  lens 
or  even  with  the  naked  eye.  Neither  child  nor  man  can 
get  any  real  grasp  of  a  subject  that  has  not  been  intro- 
duced by  a  preliminary  course  of  actual  observation.  No 
strength  of  mind  in  either  teacher  or  student  can  take 
the  place  of  facts.  One  might  read  volumes  on  the  doc- 
trine of  evolution  and  become  a  firm  believer — and  yet 
be  as  helpless  as  a  baby  in  the  presence  of  an  unbeliever. 
A  little  chloroform;  a  scalpel  and  scissors  or  in  case  of 
dire  necessity  a  jack-knife  and  a  tooth-pick  for  tools; 
a  rabbit,  a  bird,  a  frog,  a  tadpole  and  a  fish ;  and  the  time 
and  patience  to  dissect  carefully  and  compare  their  arte- 
rial systems,  would  be  worth  a  library  full  of  books  to  the 
would-be  defender  of  the  doctrine.  A  man  cannot  be 
frightened  away  from  his  facts. 

One  may,  by  means  of  rules  of  grammar  and  rhetoric, 


OBSERVATION  69 

make  faultless  English,  but  it  will  be  lifeless  too,  unless 
the  mind  is  familiar  with  the  best  English  that  has  ever 
been  made.  We  accomplish  far  less  by  rule  than  we  do  by 
|  observation  and  imitation.  A  careful  study  of  a  few 
great  books  like  Shakspere  and  the  Bible  puts  the  student 
in  a  position  to  tell  whether  the  rules  are  good  or  not. 
If  he  has  often  tasted  the  real  thing,  he  is  able  to  judge 
of  the  value  of  a  recipe. 

Our  education  is  too  wordy.  We  know  too  many 
things  and  do  not  know  them  well  enough.  Words  are 
excessively  poor  substitutes  for  things.  We  strain  and 
groan  inwardly  to  grasp  the  significance  of  what  is  said, 
when  a  simple  illustration  would  make  the  whole  thing 
plain,  when  a  single  sharply  observed  fact  would  turn 
the  explanation  into  child's  play.  "Much  study  is  a  weari- 
ness of  the  flesh"  because  there  are  not  actual  facts 
enough  from  personal  observation  for  the  mind  to  make 
images  out  of. 

If  you  want  your  feelings  stirred,  a  good  description  of 
a  mountain  storm  will  do  it.  But  if  you  want  them  singed 
for  life,  if  you  want  to  know  mist  and  rain  and  wind 
and  thunder  and  lightning  at  first  hand,  if  you  want  a 
standard  that  will  serve  to  measure  noise  and  storm 
by  as  long  as  you  live,  sit  out  doors  'on  your  bundle  of 
bedding,  near  the  foot  of  Yosemite  Falls  at  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  Be  sure  that  your  stomach  is  empty, 
too,  even  the  lion  hears  and  sees  more  things  and  thinks 
more  surely  and  quickly — he  is  a  better  observer  when  he 
is  hungry. 


70  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

We  are  made  to  believe  too  many  things  by  the  per- 
sistent noise  and  desk-pounding  of  the  talker  and  by  the 
ceaseless  iteration  of  the  writer.  Slowly  but  surely  beliefs 
are  slipped  into  the  pigeon  holes  of  our  minds  without  our 
having  ever  thoroughly  analyzed  them.  But  when  a 
mental  crisis  comes,  when  the  real  test  of  putting  into 
aotual  use  what  we  have  acquired  comes,  then  it  is  easy 
to  see  and  feel  the  difference  between  a  fact  that  has  been 
carefully  observed  and  one  that  has  been  heard  about. 
Even  with  the  best  of  opportunities  for  observation  we 
are  obliged  to  accept  many  things  on  hearsay,  at  second 
hand.  But  no  student  can  be  considered  a  success  who 
does  not  seek  to  verify  at  the  earliest  opportunity  infor- 
mation thus  received  from  others.  We  are  all  under  the 
temptation  of  persistently  using  second  hand  informa- 
tion even  when  it  is  possible  to  make  a  personal  observa- 
tion for  ourselves.  The  writer  once  took  a  whole  course 
in  Physical  Geography  without  going  out  of  the  school- 
room to  verify  a  single  statement  of  the  book.  The  whole 
subject  was  a  mere  matter  of  words. 

The  grave  danger  everywhere  in  education  is  the 
almost  irresistible  tendency  to  get  the  information  that  is 
wanted,  in  the  shortest  and  easiest  way.  That  way  is 
through  a  book.  It  is  the  line  of  least  resistance.  In  the 
short  run,  it  is  profitable  to  get  all  information  at  second 
hand,  because  it  is  easier ;  in  the  long  run  it  pays  to  be  an 
independent,  accurate  observer,  because  knowledge  se- 
cured in  that  way  is  vivid  and  permanent.  There  is  an 
almost  religious  power  of  conviction  in  a  fact,  which  mere 
words  about  that  fact  will  not  even  begin  to  rouse. 


GROWTH  OF  THE  POWER  OF  OBSERVATION       71 


CHAPTER    Vin. 

GROWTH   OF  THE   POWER  OP   OBSERVATION. 

The  ability  to  observe  for  one's  self  seems  to  be  born 
with  some  men.  In  others  the  growth  of  this  power  is 
so  slow,  that  even  in  their  later  years  they  seem  unable 
to  see  what  is  before  them.  This  slowness  of  improvement 
is  due  to  the  fact  that  the  power  of  observation  is  not 
a  simple  thing,  like  staring  at  a  post,  but  a  name  for  the 
concentrated  application  of  all  the  powers  of  the  intellect 
upon  the  object  of  immediate  attention. 

It  is  easy  to  build  a  house,  and  it  grows  fast  after 
it  is  begun.  One  thing  can  be  done  at  a  time.  If  the 
power  of  observation  could  be  built  in  this  way,  on  the 
principle  of  "one  thing  at  a  time/'  by  attending  first  to 
the  memory  and  then  to  the  power  of  thought  and  then 
to  the  power  of  attention,  the  steps  of  the  process  could 
be  watched,  the  progress  made  could  be  easily  measured 
and  one  could  decide  what  needed  to  be  done  next. 

But  observation  is  not  built;  it  grows,  like  the  human 
body.  Our  physical  growth  would  be  a  fitful  thing  if  it 
were  regulated  by  ourselves.  Length  and  strength  of  arm 
and  leg,  and  size  of  brain  are  all  provided  for  at  once. 
Growth  is  imperceptible  and  yet  certain  because  it  takes 
place  in  all  the  parts  at  once.  N"o  one  part  can  grow 


72  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

while  the  others  rest,  without  producing  a  monster.  We 
cannot  comprehend  it  or  keep  track  of  the  details;  the  re- 
sponsibility, if  we  had  to  assume  it,  would  overwhelm  us 
at  once. 

It  is  this  disastrous  assumption  of  responsibility  for 
things  with  which  he  need  have  no  concern  at  all  that 
raises  the  mountains  of  difficulty  before  the  student. 
For  the  physical  health  and  development  it  is  enough  to 
know  that  judicious  eating  and  exercise  will  make  the 
body  grow.  The  laws  of  life  attend  to  that,  if  we  attend 
properly  to  the  matter  of  food.  And  so  of  the  develop- 
ment of  intellectual  power.  We  can  watch  the  increase 
in  our  information;  but  the  more  vital  thing,  the  increase 
of  power,  takes  place  so  slowly  that  it  cannot  be  observed ; 
but  the  growth  is  certain  because  it  is  ubiquitous. 

Two  important  conditions  enter  into  the  cultivation 
of  the  power  of  observation ;  and  without  a  proper  real- 
ization of  these,  it  is  futile  to  try  to  understand  the 
process.  We  attend  to  and  observe  closely  only  those 
things  which  have  some  sort  of  interest  for  us;  and  we 
see  only  what  we  are  looking  for. 

When  the  barber  came  away  from  his  visit  to  the 
palace  and  was  asked  what  he  thought  of  the  king,  he 
summed  up  his  observations  with  the  remark  that  he 
thought  the  king  was  exceedingly  well  trimmed.  Being 
a  barber,  he  could  observe  this  feature  critically  and  ex- 
haustively. His  power  of  observation  ended  where  his 
training  and  his  interest  ended.  When  Charles  Darwin's 
party  landed  on  Terra  del  Fuego,  the  wretched  natives 


GROWTH  OF  THE  POWER  OF  OBSERVATION       73 

looked  upon  the  little  boats  as  marvels  of  perfection; 
because  these  came  within  range  of  their  interests  and 
understanding.  The  big  ship  in  the  offing  did  not  at- 
tract them,  they  did  not  observe  it  carefully  because  it 
was  too  big  for  them. 

The  point  is  that  every  man's  powers  of  observation 
are  restricted  in  practice  to  the  things  that  have  some  sort 
of  interest  for  him.  They  must  have  some  sort  of  vital 
connection  with  his  life  and  thought  in  order  to  stimulate 
mental  activity.  The  man  or  woman  seeking  culture 
needs  to  be  aware  that  the  extent  to  which  his  powers 
of  observation  are  exercised  depends  on  the  extent  and 
depth  and  variety  of  his  intellectual  interests. 

The  principle  that  one  sees  only  what  he  is  looking 
for,  lies  at  the  foundation  of  the  peculiar  way  in  which 
progress  is  made  in  the  search  for  knowledge.  Search 
implies  some  sort  of  knowledge  of  what  is  going  to  be 
found.  Haphazard  observation  is  like  haphazard  walking 
— it  leads  nowhere  and  ends  in  weariness. 

Let  us  illustrate  this  principle  from  an  experience 
common  to  most  men  and  women.  The  vast  majority  of 
intelligent  people  have  no  reliable  conception  of  what 
constitutes  a  good  picture  or  statue.  They  may  feel 
blindly  that  a  painting  is  good;  but  they  cannot  really 
appreciate  it  because  it  is  not  in  their  power  to  make  an 
Intelligent  observation  of  it.  They  have  no  means  of  an- 
alyzing it,  they  do  not  understand  what  combination  of 
qualities  constitutes  a  good  picture,  they  cannot  think 
separately  of  each  of  its  qualities.  They  have  no  theory 


74  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

of  art,  no  standard  to  go  by.  They  do  not  know  what  to 
look  for. 

I  should  not  dare  venture  an  opinion  on  any  work 
of  art,  because  I  never  had  any  teaching  even  in  the  rudi- 
ments of  the  subject.  At  one  time  a  picture  was  for 
the  most  part  a  matter  of  size  and  color.  But  there 
came  a  time  when  I  could  form  a  humble  opinion  in  si- 
lence. The  necessary  power  to  appreciate  a  picture  did 
not  come  to  me  by  much  staring;  I  read  Lessing's  "Lao- 
coon/*  It  stimulated  me  because  it  lent  me  the  power  of 
analysis.  It  taught  me  what  the  elements  are  that  con- 
stitute a  work  of  art.  Ever  since  that  reading  art  has 
been  a  pleasure  to  me.  My  opinion  is  worthless  to  oth- 
ers ;  but  I  know  at  least  something  about  what  to  look  for. 
A  world  of  pleasure  was  opened  to  me  through  this  essay 
because  it  gave  me  a  theory  of  art.  Even  the  possibility 
of  observation  was  wanting  till  I  was  taught  what  to  look 
for;  and  this  was  done  by  placing  in  my  hands  some  of 
the  general  principles  of  art. 

Charles  Darwin  relates  an  instance  strikingly  illus- 
trative of  this  general  inability  to  see  things  without  the 
help  of  theory  or  general  principles.  When  still  a  young 
man,  he  accompanied  Sedgwick,  the  great  geologist,  to 
Wales  to  study  the  Cambrian  rocks  and  collect  fossils. 
At  Cym  Idwal  they  literally  trod  upon  the  evidences  of 
glacial  action  in  the  past.  Moraines,  stray  boulders,  all 
the  most  striking  evidence  of  glaciation  lay  exposed  be- 
fore them,  mutely  pleading  to  be  seen  and  interpreted. 
The  facts  seemed  actually  to  be  thrust  upon  them.  He 


GROWTH  OF  THE  POWER  OF  OBSERVATION       75 

wrote  in  after  years  that  if  a  house  had  been  burned  on 
the  spot,  the  ruins  could  not  have  furnished  better  evi- 
dence of  a  fire  than  all  these  things  gave  of  the  former 
existence  of  glaciers  there. 

But  neither  of  these  men,  the  one  soon  to  become 
a  famous  scientific  observer,  the  other  already  famous, 
saw  anything  at  all.  They  were  as  blind  to  the  facts  and 
their  meaning  as  a  ploughman  would  have  been.  The 
failure  to  see  was  certainly  not  due  to  stupidity,  nor  to 
the  lack  of  training;  but  solely  to  the  fact  that  there 
was  as  yet  no  glacial  theory  by  the  help  of  which  to 
look  for  and  see  these  facts.  Nobody  else  saw  anything. 
After  Charpentier,  who  was  familiar  with  the  work  of 
the  existing  Alpine  glaciers,  had  suggested  that  the  Al- 
pine boulders  scattered  over  the  Jura  mountains  far  away 
from  their  origin,  had  been  carried  there  by  glaciers, 
and  Agassiz  had  expanded  the  "glacial  theory"  to  explain 
the  same  kind  of  phenomena  elsewhere,  it  was  easier  to 
see  the  glacial  phenomena,  scattered  as  they  are  over  all 
of  northern  Europe.  Things  which  fifty  years  ago  were 
hardly  seen  at  all,  now  constitute  the  materials  of  a 
whole  branch  of  geological  science.  The  work  of  the 
great  ice-sheet,  in  carving  valleys,  scratching  rocks  and 
transporting  gravel  and  boulders,  and  the  work  of  the 
floods  of  water  from  its  southern  edges  in  sorting  soils, 
changing  ancient  river  courses  and  cutting  new  ones  are 
as  charming  to  read  about  as  any  romance  can  be.  Men 
see  the  facts  now  because  they  are  looking  for  them. 

It  is  not  possible  to  tell,  even  with  the  help  of  the- 


76  THE   ART    OF    STUDY 

ory  exactly  what  ought  to  be  found;  many  mistakes  have 
been  made  which  have  thrown  men  off  the  trail  of  truth. 
But  it  is  known  that  mighty  forces  were  at  work  and  that 
they  produced  consequences  that  can  be  unravelled.  The 
whole  point  of  view  is  different  from  what  it  was  in 
Darwin's  early  days.  After  the  theory  of  glacial  action 
in  the  northern  hemisphere  became  thoroughly  under- 
stood the  knowledge  of  glacial  geology  grew  by  such 
long,  swift  leaps  that  it  would  seem  as  if  the  men  of 
former  years  must  have  been  utterly  stupid  not  to  see 
the  facts  before.  Facts  for  which  an  explanation  is  al- 
ready at  hand  are  easy  to  find,  and  when  found  are  easily 
fitted  into  the  scheme  of  facts  already  known.  Facts 
for  which  no  explanation  is  ready  are  not  likely  to  be 
either  seen  or  looked  for. 

This  is  why  the  world's  progress  in  learning  things 
has  been  so  slow,  and  why  the  course  of  true  knowledge 
is  so  zigzag.  Progress  is  largely  a  matter  of  weapons, 
in  the  purely  intellectual  life  as  well  as  in  war  and  com- 
merce. A  new  force  like  electricity  no  more  surely 
changes  the  face  of  the  business  world,  the  long-range 
repeating  rifle  no  more  surely  transforms  warfare,  than 
a  theory,  even  though  only  partly  true,  multiplies  the 
powers  of  the  thinking  observer.  There  must  be  pio- 
neering done  in  intellectual  things  to  get  some  general 
explanation,  and  then  the  solid  road-bed  is  built  by  work- 
ing backwards  by  the  light  of  the  new  theory. 

So  it  is  that  observation  of  a  fact  of  any  kind  in- 
volves two  important  sets  of  acts.  It  must  be  analyzed, 


GROWTH  OF  THE  POWER  OF  OBSERVATION       77 

taken  apart,  so  that  its  nature  may  be  understood,  and  it 
must  be  explained,  associated  with  all  the  other  known 
facts  of  its  kind  and  treated  as  an  illustration  of  a  gen- 
eral principle  or  as  the  effect  of  some  cause. 

It  will  only  be  necessary  to  give  some  further  illus- 
trations to  show  that  mere  isolated  facts,  that  have 
forced  themselves  upon  the  attention,  but  have  not  been 
really  observed,  are  of  very  little  value  to  the  intellectual 
life ;  and  that  there  can  be  no  good  observation  unless  the 
mind  is  equipped  with  general  principles,  so  that,  as 
soon  as  the  facts  come  under  notice,  they  can  be  brought 
into  close  relation  with  all  the  facts  already  known. 

If  two  men  walk  down  the  dry  bed  of  a  western 
stream  that  flows  only  during  the  winter,  both  will  see 
rocks  and  gravel  and  sand.  But  here  they  part  intellect- 
ual company.  One  of  them,  who  knows  something  of 
the  effects  of  water  action,  perhaps  only  that  such  a  force 
as  water,  acting  constantly  in  one  direction  must  produce 
well-marked  results,  can  see,  as  he  passes  from  the  slopes 
to  the  level  stretches,  that  the  stones  become  smaller, 
gravel  is  more  common  and  is  succeeded  by  stretches 
of  sand.  His  active  mind  grasps  the  fact  that  the 
lessening  force  of  the  water  drops  the  stones  first  and 
carries  the  sand  farther  along.  Explanation  such  as 
this  is  a  violent  stimulant  to  further  active  observa- 
tion; the  subject  grows.  He  is  struck  by  the  fact 
that  there  are  no  rolling  stones  in  the  steeper  parts  of 
the  stream.  They  are  all  packed  and  can  be  safely 
stepped  upon  and  trusted  to  keep  their  places;  because 


78  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

the  water  would  push  a  loose  stone  along  until  it  im- 
bedded itself  in  a  firm  resting  place.  Lower  down,  the 
little  stones,  if  they  are  shingly  in  their  nature,  are  laid 
like  the  shingles  on  a  roof — the  long  way  parallel  with 
the  course  of  the  stream,  the  lower  end  projecting  and 
the  upper  end  buried  beneath  those  farther  up.  To  the 
real  observer  there  is  an  explanation  for  the  fact.  That 
is  the  position  of  least  resistance,  the  only  one  in  which 
they  can  shed  water.  If  the  upper  end  of  a  stone  pro- 
jected, the  water  would  topple  it  over  and  push  it  out  of 
place. 

These  explanations  are  all  so  simple  that  to  give 
them  seems  ridiculous ;  but  that  is  the  gist  of  science  and 
sound  scholarship.  Because  he  thinks,  the  arrangement 
of  rock  and  gravel  and  sand  is  as  orderly  as  the  words 
in  a  line  of  English  poetry.  Every  fact  is  a  record  left 
by  some  force  that  has  been  at  work,  and  he  interprets 
the  record. 

The  other  man  is  not  like  unto  him.  He  sees  the 
rock  and  gravel  and  sand,  but  the  only  observation  that 
he  makes  as  he  passes  down  the  stream-bed  is  that  the 
walking  is  hard.  He  leaves  the  bed  and  takes  to  the  cow- 
trail  on  the  bank,  for  the  same  reason  that  the  cow  does. 
His  mind  sees  no  connections.  There  is  no  further  ob- 
servation because  the  relations  of  things  to  each  other 
are  not  seen.  The  first  few  facts  arouse  no  thought,  so 
the  rest  all  remain  entirely  unobserved. 

In  succeeding  chapters  great  emphasis  will  be  laid 
upon  the  matter  of  right  thinking.  It  is  only  necessary 


GROWTH  OF  THE  POWER  OF  OBSERVATION       79 

here  to  point  out  how  a  mind  well-equipped  with  general 
ideas  can  assimilate  new  facts,  how  good  observation  de- 
pends on  the  ability  to  dispose  of  each  new  fact,  as  it 
comes  up,  as  a  part  of  some  system  of  thought. 

Every  reader  can  in  later  life  recall  some  of  the 
most  interesting  experiences  of  childhood  and  see  how 
much  was  missed  in  the  way  of  new  observations  because 
the  real  significance  of  the  things  that  were  seen  was  not 
understood.  It  is  well  for  us  that  childhood  is  the  most 
impressionable  age,  the  time  when  the  retentive  memory 
is  at  its  best;  because,  if  it  were  not  so,  while  the  power 
of  thought  is  yet  undeveloped,  while  there  is  yet  little 
capacity  for  thinking  out  the  relations  of  things  to  each 
other,  there  could  hardly  be  any  memories  of  childhood. 
Even  at  their  best,  the  memories  of  childhood  are  wo- 
fully  defective  because  so  much  was  missed,  so  much 
remained  unobserved,  for  the  reasons  given  above. 

In  my  early  boyhood  I  swam  and  fished  and  poled 
canoes  in  a  river  that  was  wonderful  to  me.  It  seemed 
to  be  made  for  the  use  of  boys — moderate  in  size,  but 
large  enough  for  our  capacities.  It  seemed  to  have  a 
very  obliging  nature.  There  were  plenty  of  deep  holes 
for  fishing  and  swimming,  and  always  on  the  opposite 
shore  was  a  sand-bar.  It  was  a  great  convenience  to  have 
a  sand-bar  to  dress  and  undress  and  play  and  burn  our 
naked,  wet  backs  upon ;  and  a  sloping  bottom  on  which  to 
wade  straight  into  deep  water.  And  when  we  did  not  want 
to  swim,  things  were  admirably  fixed  for  wading.  The 
shallow  riffles  always  stretched  from  the  lower  end  of  one 


80  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

sand-bar  to  the  upper  end  of  the  next  bar  below,  which 
was  always  on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  There  was 
also  one  remarkable  inconvenience,  which  was  felt  most 
keenly  when  we  wanted  to  cover  distances  in  the  canoe. 
Then  the  river  was  made  up  entirely  of  "bends,"  and  the 
cattle  traveled  faster  than  we  did  by  cutting  through 
the  woods  at  every  bend  and  coming  to  the  bank  again 
below.  Of  course,  this  was  exasperating  but  that  is  all 
we  knew  or  felt  about  the  facts. 

I  remember  each  of  these  things  distinctly,  by  itself, 
because  of  constant  association  with  them  during  a  long 
period  of  time,  because  they  all  came  in  touch  with  my 
desires  and  necessities.  But  I  never  thought  of  them 
all  together,  holes  and  sand-bars,  riffles  and  bends,  as  the 
effects  of  one  constantly  working  cause,  as  being  appar- 
ently related  to  each  other  by  the  laws  of  nature.  If  I 
had  been  wide  awake  to  the  fact  that  in  one  place  the 
bank  is  steep  and  the  water  is  deep  because  the  current 
there  drove  against  the  bank,  and  that  below  this  place 
on  the  same  side  of  the  river  is  a  sand-bar  because  the 
current  slackened  when  it  struck  the  bank  and  had  to 
drop  the  material  it  got  there  before  it  gathered  speed 
again;  and  if  I  had  known  that  in  a  winding  river  the 
current  dashes  first  into  one  bank  and  then  into  the 
other,  I  should  have  known  why  our  sand-bars  always  had 
holes  opposite  them  and  why  the  riffles  crossed  the  river 
obliquely.  And  I  should  have  seen  a  multitude  of  things 
that  I  never  saw  in  my  boyhood  at  all. 

There  were  some  funny  little  "half-moon  lakes" — 
they  looked  big  to  us  then — hid  away  in  the  river  hot- 


GROWTH  OF  THE  POWER  OF  OBSERVATION       rfl 

toms,  too,  made  especially  for  us  to  catch  frogs  in.  We 
were  very  familiar  with  them, — for  had  we  not  hunted 
hell-divers  in  vain  and  peppered  the  frogs  daily  to  see 
them  jump  off  the  logs  into  the  water?  But  many  of 
the  best  of  all  these  facts  were  utterly  forgotten.  They 
were  linked  only  with  our  temporary  interests  and  when 
these  passed  away,  the  facts  themselves  were  dumped  on 
the  rubbish  heap  of  forge tfulness. 

When  later  in  life  I  became  familiar  with  the  prin- 
ciples of  water  action,  whither  should  my  mind  turn  for 
illustrations  but  to  the  rivers  of  my  boyhood?  All  the 
facts  that  I  could  remember  underwent  a  wonderful 
transformation.  They  became  related  to  each  other;  all 
that  I  remembered  was  explained.  But  there  were  great 
gaps  of  information  left  unfilled.  Observation  had  not 
followed  the  facts,  that  they  might  be  understood.  They 
had  merely  been  thrust  upon  the  attention.  Would  the 
memory  of  a  crescent  pool  in  the  woods  be  less  vivid  if 
I  had  observed  that  it  was  once  a  bend  in  the  river ;  that 
the  latter  at  high  water  had  taken  a  short  cut  and  made 
a  straight  bed  for  itself  and  left  the  bend  in  the  woods, 
and  choked  it  up  at  both  ends  to  be  a  frog-pond  for  the 
boys? 

The  observations  of  even  the  most  impressionable 
period  of  life  are  fatally  defective,  from  the  student's 
point  of  view,  unless  they  are  made  in  the  light  of  gen- 
eral explanations  that  link  all  the  facts  together;  because 
it  is  the  desire  to  understand  all  the  connections  be- 
tween facts  that  makes  observation  complete  and  ex- 
haustive. 


THE   ART   OF   STUDY 


CHAPTER  IX. 

DISCRIMINATION. 

If  all  the  material  objects  in  the  world  were  spheri- 
cal, we  should  never  think  of  making  shape  a  subject  of 
study.  The  work  of  comparison  could  never  begin  where 
there  were  no  differences  that  could  be  detected.  And, 
on  the  other  hand,  if  all  the  objects  of  knowledge  were 
entirely  different  from  each  other,  so  that  no  two  had 
any  qualities  in  common,  there  would  be  no  basis  for  the 
growth  of  knowledge.  No  one  ever  feels  called  upon 
either  to  compare  or  discriminate  between  an  apple  and 
the  sound  of  thunder.  The  powers  of  the  human  mind 
can  be  exercised  only  on  things  that  are  alike  in  some 
respects  and  unlike  in  others.  It  is  only  in  the  presence 
of  different  shapes  that  the  mind  begins  to  deal  with 
the  subject  of  shape  by  itself.  It  is  only  in  dealing  with 
different  colors,  that  the  subject  of  color  becomes  a  dis- 
tinct subject  of  thought. 

At  the  very  foundation  of  the  intellectual  life  lie 
two  mental  processes  that  are  as  mutually  dependent  on 
each  other  as  the  reciprocal  strokes  of  a  pendulum. 
These  are  discrimination  and  association.  The  latter 
will  be  dealt  with  in  a  separate  chapter.  The  process  of 
discrimination  is  carried  only  as  far  as  the  individual's 


DISCRIMINATION  83 

interests  require  it.  Most  men  are  very  poor  judges  of 
cloth  because  they  have  never  cultivated  the  power  of 
iliscrimination  in  that  direction.  They  have  a  hazy 
knowledge  that  many  differences  exist,  without  knowing 
or  being  able  to  tell  in  what  those  differences  consist. 
They  can  tell  the  difference  between  calico  and  woolen 
cloth;  but  not  between  woolen  cloth  and  its  cotton  imi- 
tations. The  larger  differences  between  things  are  al- 
ways striking  enough  to  take  care  of  themselves.  It  is 
when  things  are  very  much  alike  that  the  trouble  begins; 
and  then  the  power  to  discriminate  needs  to  be  con- 
sciously trained.  And  training  makes  the  expert. 

Sound  scholarship  depends  largely  on  the  power  of 
discrimination.  To  illustrate  its  importance,  I  shall  take 
an  example  that  seems  utterly  insignificant.  In  so  small 
a  matter  as  the  failure  to  discriminate  the  forms  of  two 
letters  of  the  German  alphabet  there  often  lies  a  ter- 
rible possibility  of  evil  to  sound  scholarship.  I  have 
known  scores  of  students  of  sound  mental  endowments 
who  persistently  ignored  the  slight  difference  in  form 
between  the  German  f  (s)  and  f  (f),  and  confused  them 
in  the  pronunciation  of  words  until  no  amount  of  criti- 
cism or  even  censure  seemed  able  to  correct  the  habitual 
error.  The  initial  error  was  so  slight  that  it  would  seem 
to  come  well  within  the  limits  of  blunders  that  can  safely 
be  neglected.  But  the  confusion  produced  by  the  failure 
to  make  this  single  little  discrimination  between  two 
printed  letters  of  the  alphabet  and  to  preserve  it  care- 
fully in  practice,  ruined  the  pronunciation  of  otherwise 


84  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

good  students.  But  there  was  another  and  far  more  dis- 
astrous effect.  Every  word  that  contained  one  of  the 
mislearned  letters  was  likely  to  be  looked  for  in  the 
wrong  place  in  the  dictionary.  The  words  were  mis- 
understood, the  context  would  throw  no  light  on  their 
meaning,  they  were  dull,  unorganizable  elements,  they 
would  not  fit  anywhere.  German  reading  was  a  farce; 
knowledge  of  the  German  language  was  hopelessly  de- 
fective. Right  judgment  was  impossible. 

This  failure  of  discrimination  was  not  due  to  poor 
eyesight,  or  to  lack  of  intellectual  capacity;  but  to  sheer 
indisposition,  almost  stubborn  unwillingness  to  at- 
tend to  differences  that  seemed  too  minute  to  be  worthy 
of  consideration.  This  one  instance  is  only  a  sample  of 
quite  a  number  of  errors  that  are  possible  in  dealing  with 
the  German  alphabet.  And  at  every  point  in  the  stu- 
dent's career  the  same  problem  comes  up,  in  every  day's 
work  in  every  subject  that  is  dealt  with.  The  more  mi- 
nute the  differences  between  two  things,  the  more  likely 
they  are  to  be  overlooked;  or  worse  still,  if  seen,  to  be 
ignored,  until  the  very  capacity  for  observing  those  dif- 
ferences seems  to  be  lost. 

The  vast  importance  of  this  matter  comes  home  to 
the  student  only  when  he  realizes  that  every  fact  that 
comes  to  him  he  uses  at  once  as  a  tool  with  which  to  se- 
cure new  facts.  If  each  fact,  when  it  is  acquired,  could 
be  safely  tucked  away  in  a  mental  pigeon-hole  where  it 
would  have  no  effect  on  the  work  of  securing  and  dealing 
with  other  facts,  this  subject  of  careful  discrimination 


DISCRIMINATION  85 

would  not  be  a  serious  matter.  There  are  various 
reasons  for  poor  discrimination.  But  the  most  serious 
one  is  humanity's  common  failing — what  Bagehot  calls 
"an  irritable  desire  to  act  directly/5  The  lack  of  pa- 
tience to  make  careful  preparation  and  weigh  all  the  con- 
ditions before  each  step  is  taken,  results  in  a  failure  to 
discriminate. 

The  thing  chiefly  to  be  desired  for  the  student  is 
that  his  knowledge  of  everything  he  touches  shall  be  ac- 
curate, as  far  as  it  goes.  It  is  impossible  for  him,  at  his 
stage  of  the  work  to  know  all  there  is  to  know,  even 
about  the  German  alphabet.  But  discrimination  in  this 
and  in  all  other  matters  needs  to  be  made  so  thorough 
that  the  student  shall  not  think  that  a  fact  is  one  thing 
when  it  is  really  another.  Flies  burn  off  their  wings  in 
a  gas  flame  because  of  a  lack  of  discrimination.  The 
student  just  as  surely  destroys  the  keen  edge  and  the 
temper  of  his  intellectual  tools  by  failing  to  make  a 
steady  business  of  discrimination  among  facts. 

There  are  great  differences  among  people  in  their 
powers  of  recognizing  similarities  or  differences.  Some 
are  highly  gifted  with  the  power  of  seeing  analogies.  In 
a  succeeding  chapter  it  will  be  shown  at  some  length  how 
largely  all  our  thinking  depends  on  the  power  to  recog- 
nize the  qualities  which  things  have  in  common.  Bain 
and  others  have  pointed  out  that  a  far-reaching  power  to 
see  likenesses  among  things  that  are  apparently  unlike 
is  the  foundation  of  what  is  called  genius.  Without  this 
unifying  power  there  can  be  no  breadth  and  depth  of 


86  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

mental  grasp.  Many  of  our  figures  of  speech  are  based 
on  the  recognition  of  similarities  between  things;  our 
power  to  classify  objects  of  knowledge  and  reason  con- 
cerning them  is  based  on  this  power  of  mental  associa- 
tion. 

But  intellectual  accuracy  and  soundness  of  judgment, 
the  authoritativeness  of  our  knowledge,  depend  on  clear 
discrimination  of  things  among  which  there  are  but  slight 
differences.  Locke  has  written  strong  words  about  the 
difference  between  wit  and  judgment  which  every  student 
would  do  well  to  ponder.  Wit  is  based  on  the  recogni- 
tion of  similarities.  Sound  judgment  is  not  based  on 
figures  of  speech;  it  is  not  misled  by  similarities;  does 
not  confuse  things  that  are  in  any  respect  unlike.  The 
recognition  of  similarities  among  things  leads  to  power- 
ful mental  grasp  and  to  poetic  beauty.  But  truth  is 
built  on  discrimination.  It  is  thinking  of  things  as 
being  alike  which  are  in  reality  not  alike  that  leads  into 
errors  and  blocks  intellectual  progress.  Accurate  scien- 
tific work,  scholarly  translation  of  a  language,  powerful 
literary  expression  are  all  dependent  upon  the  power  of 
discrimination.  What  are  refinement  of  manner,  liter- 
ary taste,  scientific  penetration?  Not  merely  the  power 
to  see  resemblances,  but  the  power  to  make  acute  dis- 
crimination among  things  that  look  alike  to  others,  and 
to  act  correctly  on  such  facts. 

Some  people  seem  to  have  a  native  "feeling"  for 
what  is  correct,  in  manners,  literary  style,  forms  of  ex- 
pression, conduct  It  looks  as  if  such  a  power  must  be 


DISCRIMINATION  87 

born  with  the  individual;  that  it  cannot  be  trained. 
Doubtless  as  Tristram  Shandy  was  a  better  logician  with- 
out schooling  than  many  highly  trained  scholars  were, 
so  many  men  and  women  are  by  nature  gifted  with  great 
powers  of  discrimination.  But  all  men  are  possessed 
of  capabilities  in  this  respect  which  are  but  little  if  at 
all  developed. 

The  most  worthless  kind  of  knowledge  that  one  can 
have  about  things  is  such  as  this:  that  there  is  a  differ- 
ence between  two  words  or  between  two  trees,  without 
one's  being  able  to  tell  what  that  difference  is.  The  only 
remedy  for  such  a  state  of  things  is  comparison,  by  which 
two  things  or  ideas  are  brought  together  and  examined 
at  the  same  time,  for  the  purpose  of  finding  out  in  what 
they  are  alike  and  in  what  they  differ.  The  trouble  with 
most  of  our  knowledge  is  that  it  has  been  gathered  up 
in  a  miscellaneous  way  in  the  course  of  years  without 
conscious  effort  to  emphasize  the  differences  between 
things. 

There  are  at  least  two  ways  of  doing  everything. 
And  one  very  dry  way  to  study  words  is  to  sit  down  and 
study  column  after  column  of  them  in  a  formal  way. 
But  the  practice  of  purposely  comparing  words,  in  the 
study  of  languages,  for  example,  in  order  to  learn  exactly 
how  they  differ  from  each  other,  so  that  the  exactly  fit- 
ting word  may  always  be  used,  changes  the  whole  char- 
acter of  a  student's  knowledge.  That  is  what  makes 
him  an  expert,  whether  he  is  dealing  with  words  or  trees 
or  historical  facts.  No  matter  how  incomplete  one's 


88  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

knowledge  may  be  at  a  given  time,  the  process  is  right, 
and  more  work  of  the  same  kind  will  make  it  perfect. 

The  word  expert  carries  with  it  such  a  strong  com- 
mercial flavor  that  one  might  hesitate  to  use  it  in  a  dis- 
cussion intended  for  those  who  are  seeking  culture.  But 
what  is  skill  in  judging  music,  art,  or  literature?  On 
what  is  the  skill  dependent  that  can  produce  a  perfect 
symphony  or  painting  or  poem?  Great  power  to  dis- 
criminate tones  and  colors  and  forms  of  expression  that 
are  not  recognized  as  distinct  at  all  by  the  mass  of  men. 
The  habit  of  very  careful  comparison  and  long  training 
in  distinguishing  things  that  are  only  minutely  differ- 
ent, are  what  make  the  expert  in  all  departments  of  life. 

The  last  degree  of  expertness  may  deal  with  differ- 
ences so  minute  that  they  cannot  be  described.  They 
seem  to  be  a  matter  of  indefinable  feeling.  The  wool- 
buyer  may  be  able  to  detect  whether  a  bale  of  wool  has 
been  water-logged  by  means  of  a  rope  with  one  end  fixed 
in  the  bale  and  the  other  end  floating  in  a  creek.  But, 
however  able  he  may  be  to  detect  fraud,  the  finest  and 
best  work  is  done  in  judging  real  wool — recognizing  the 
minute  differences  that  nature  herself  has  produced  on 
the  backs  of  sheep.  The  differences  that  he  can  detect 
may  baffle  his  powers  of  description,  but  he  gives  correct 
judgment.  This  power  is  extremely  slow  of  growth.  But 
the  student  inevitably  acquires  it  if  his  process  is  correct. 
If  he  takes  the  time  to  make  careful  comparison  and  dis- 
cover the  exact  nature  of  the  differences  between  things, 
the  knowledge  thus  gained  will  be  his  firm  friend,  and  he 


DISCRIMINATION  89 

will  develop,  in  large  measure,  that  tact  in  conduct,  apt- 
ness in  the  use  of  words,  tremendous  power  of  interpre- 
tation, which  seem  to  be  gifts  bestowed  by  nature  only 
on  the  favored  few. 

As  has  already  been  said,  discrimination  must  cease 
somewhere;  and  in  this  matter  we  must  in  the  end  be 
guided  by  what  our  interests  are,  by  what  we  have  at 
stake.  During  my  college  days  it  would  have  been  folly 
for  me  to  discriminate  the  sounds  that  my  feet  made  on 
the  sidewalk  at  every  step.  I  could  have  no  interest  in 
such  a  thing.  But  the  old  blind  man  that  trod  for  years 
the  same  plank  walk  that  I  did,  had  a  vital  interest  in 
the  sound  of  every  foot-fall.  He  could  walk  blocks  at 
a  stretch  without  using  his  cane;  and  when  he  reached 
the  corner  at  which  he  turned  homeward  he  could  stop 
within  a  foot  of  the  center  of  the  walk,  wheel  on  his  heel 
and  go  home  without  using  his  cane  at  all.  Blind-folded 
I  would  have  been  perfectly  helpless;  but  he  distin- 
guished among  sensations  of  the  very  existence  of  which 
I  was  unaware.  If  I  had  used  my  powers  in  my  college 
work  as  effectively  as  he  used  his  in  the  business  of  get- 
ting home,  I  should  have  been  not  only  a  better,  but  a 
different  kind  of  scholar. 

It  is  no  small  part  of  the  student's  work  to  learn  to 
discriminate  habitually,  by  means  of  active  scrutiny,  be- 
tween things  whose  differences  are  small.  He  is  not 
at  liberty  to  be  content,  like  other  men,  with  differences 
that  are  so  great  that  they  force  themselves  upon  him; 
he  is  under  the  moral  necessity  of  looking  for  and  hunt- 


90  THE   ART   6F    STUDY 

ing  out  the  smaller  differences  between  things  and  con- 
sciously stating  those  differences  to  himself  in  the  in- 
terests of  accuracy  and  sound  knowledg 

But  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  mere  ability  to 
recognize  differences  between  things  does  not  make  a 
good  thinker.  It  is  only  one  of  the  conditions  of  sound 
thinking.  A  man  may  have  very  acute  powers  of  dis- 
crimination and  yet  lack,  in  large  measure,  the  com- 
panion power  of  associating  things  that  are  realty  alike 
and  drawing  general  truths  from  those  likenesses.  A 
mind  in  which  the  power  of  discrimination  outweighs 
that  of  association  is  likely  to  be  loaded  with  a  vast  quan- 
tity of  accurate  details,  cyclopedic  in  its  nature,  but 
without  much  power  of  organizing  this  vast  store  of 
knowledge  and  drawing  general  truths  from  it.  The 
mind,  on  the  other  hand,  gifted  with  great  powers  of  as- 
sociation, but  deficient  in  discrimination,  is  likely  to  be 
speculative,  unhampered  by  the  quality  of  its  facts.  It 
will  revel  in  flights  of  reasoning  and  its  work  will  look 
very  brilliant ;  but  the  results  will  not  bear  investigation, 
they  will  not  stand  long  in  the  place  that  belongs  to  truth. 

What  discrimination  at  its  best  actually  does  is  to 
furnish  valuable  material  for  the  powers  of  association 
to  work  upon.  Merely  recognizing  that  things  are  differ- 
ent leads  to  nothing.  Unless  the  power  of  detecting 
differences  between  things  is  accompanied  by  good  power 
of  detecting  resemblances  among  things,  there  will  be 
but  little  power  of  constructive  thought,  of  generaliza- 
tion, no  sweep  of  conception,  no  grasp  of  large  and  gen- 


DISCRIMINATION  91 

eral  problems.  The  two  powers  are  really  reciprocal. 
In  the  well-trained  mind  there  is  constant  interaction 
between  the  two.  As  soon  as  discrimination  has  taken 
a  strong  hold  of  a  new  fact  and  clearly  revealed  its  na- 
ture,— as  soon  as  it  is  recognized  to  be  different  from 
the  other  things  with  which  it  is  associated  and  is  sep- 
arated from  them  in  thought,  the  mind  immediately 
seeks  to  bring  this  new  fact  into  a  mental  association 
with  other  things  that  are  known  to  be  like  it. 

From  my  early  childhood  black-bird  concerts  have 
had  a  strange  charm  for  me.  I  had  never  analyzed  the 
"concert  music"  and  discriminated  the  different  sounds 
that  make  it  up.  Later  in  life  I  learned,  somewhat  to 
my  astonishment,  that  crows,  black-birds  and  blue-jays 
are  all  very  closely  related,  and  belong  among  the  true 
singing  birds.  The  humor  of  the  latter  fact  drew  my 
attention  to  the  sounds  they  made,  and  I  discovered  a 
remarkable  likeness  in  their  ordinary  call-notes.  After 
that  they  all  cawed,  only  in  different  keys.  Thenceforth 
their  music  as  well  as  their  anatomy  testified  that  they 
were  relatives. 

But  the  black-bird  concert,  with  its  mysterious,  out- 
landish charm  still  stood  out  by  itself.  It  was  only  long 
afterwards,  when  the  close  relationship  of  the  birds  and 
the  similarity  of  their  calls  had  grown  perfectly  familiar, 
that  I  undertook  to  analyze  it.  As  soon  as  I  began  to 
listen  for  the  separate  sounds  that  go  to  make  the  con- 
cert, not  only  the  quantity  of  sound,  but  the  remarkable 
double  nature  of  the  music,  became  impressive.  Com- 


92  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

mingled  with  the  liquid,  musical  whistle  is  the  plain  old 
black-bird  caw.  I  immediately  associated  this  element 
with  other  things  that  were  like  it,  and  so  emphasized  the 
difference  between  the  two  notes  that  enter  into  the  con- 
cert. 

This  illustration  seems  strangely  chosen;  but  I  do 
not  expect  others  to  become  bewitched  by  black-bird  con- 
certs because  I  have  been.  The  illustration  was  selected 
for  its  simplicity;  and  it  shows  clearly  the  effect  of  edu- 
cation on  the  power  of  discrimination.  I  did  not  analyze 
the  music  of  the  black-bird  until  I  was  fairly  well 
equipped  with  a  variety  of  information  bearing  on  the 
general  subject  of  those  birds.  It  was  only  after  the 
"concert"  had  been  surrounded  by  organized  knowledge 
and  it  was  left  as  an  island  of  unreduced  ignorance,  that 
it  was  subjected  to  analysis.  The  extent  to  which  we  are 
willing  to  isolate  one  element  from  the  others  connected 
with  it,  and  group  it  with  things  that  are  like  itself,  de- 
pends on  the  general  range  of  our  knowledge.  The  ac- 
curacy, clearness  and  variety  of  what  we  already  know 
determines  the  extent  to  which  the  mind  will  "pick  out* ' 
new  materials  and  bring  them  into  old  groups. 

The  mind  that  has  cultivated  a  well-balanced  com- 
bination of  patient  discrimination  and  bold  association 
and  general  reasoning,  is  in  possession  of  the  power  to 
hunt  the  truth  and  mercilessly  verify  its  results.  It  must 
be  listened  to;  its  work  will  last.  Even  though  time 
should  prove  that  some  or  even  many  of  its  results  are 
wrong,  yet  the  process  of  reaching  those  results  is  correct 


DISCRIMINATION  93 

and  they  mark  a  necessary  stage  in  the  growth  of  later 
and  better  knowledge.  More  of  the  same  kind  of  work 
will  remove  the  error  and  reveal  the  truth. 


94  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 


CHAPTER  X. 

ASSOCIATION  I    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Probably  every  normal  person  has  at  some  time 
stopped  short  in  a  train  of  thought  and  asked  himself 
why  his  thoughts  have  succeeded  each  other  in  the  order 
in  which  they  have  come  to  him.  Whether  in  reverie  or 
a  hard  and  long-continued  course  of  reasoning,  each 
thought,  in  dying  away,  gives  birth  to  the  next  one.  The 
mind  passes,  almost  instantaneously,  by  apparently  the 
wildest  and  most  unaccountable  dashes,  from  one  end  of 
the  universe  to  the  other,  and  brings  together  in  thought 
things  that  of  themselves  seem  to  furnish  no  apparent 
reason  for  being  thought  of  together.  But  there  is  a 
fundamental  mental  principle  that  governs  the  association 
of  ideas  that  succeed  each  other  throughout  our  waking 
hours.  Why  it  should  be  as  it  is  with  our  minds,  is  a 
problem  that  has  presented  itself  for  solution  to  philoso- 
phers since  the  time  of  Aristotle;  and  doubtless  ages  be- 
fore his  time,  the  skin-clad  shepherd,  in  some  reflective 
moment,  asked  himself  the  same  question. 

It  is  not  the  purpose  of  this  book  to  discuss  the  ques- 
tion from  a  psychological  point  of  view;  but  to  accept 
the  principle  of  mental  association  as  we  find  it, — abso- 
lutely master  of  all  our  thoughts — and  to  draw  out  a  little 


ASSOCIATION :    ILLUSTRATIONS  95 

its  bearings  on  the  problem  of  education  from  the  stu- 
dent's point  of  view.  Each  one  can  find  in  his  own  ex- 
perience the  best  examples  to  illustrate  the  workings  of 
the  principle. 

One  cloudy,  cold  and  wet  winter  evening,  I  stood 
outdoors  in  the  depressing  twilight  in  a  mountain-girded 
valley  twenty  miles  from  the  Pacific,  and  heard  the  sul- 
len roar  of  the  unseen  ocean.  It  was  the  kind  of  deep, 
resistless,  muffled  sound,  that  seemed  to  mutter  more 
than  speak  of  mightier  things  that  it  might  do.  That 
sound  at  another  time  would  probably  have  recalled 
visions  of  cliff  and  beach  and  surf  and  shells  and  tide- 
pools  and  sea-urchins  in  their  little  pot-holes  in  the  solid 
rock  and  the  odor  of  the  sea.  But  none  of  these  things 
returned  to  consciousness.  The  muffled  roar  brought 
back  another  majestic  sound.  I  had  seen  Niagara  Falls 
on  a  sunny  summer  noon-day,  when  water  and  mist  and 
sky  were  bright,  and  there  was  no  suggestion  of  gloom. 
The  roar  of  the  ocean  had  called  up  something  that  was 
like  itself. 

But  why,  when  the  roar  of  Niagara  had  been  sum- 
moned across  almost  three  thousand  miles  of  intervening 
plains  and  mountains  and  across  the  intervening  years, 
did  that  deep  eternal  monotone  bring  back  with  it  all 
the  other  qualities  of  that  piece  of  Nature's  wonder  work 
and  even  the  thoughts  inspired  in  me  at  sight  of  them? 
Why  did  the  rushing  and  glinting  and  falling  of  the 
water  come  back  with  the  roar?  And  after  them  all, 
why  did  memory  drag  out  again  the  solemn  thoughts  of 


96  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

eternity  and  almighty  power  that  had  heaved  through  me 
in  that  wonderful  hour?  There  I  stood,  oblivious  to  the 
cold  and  darkening  gloom,  and  revelled  once  more  in 
thought  of  the  beautiful  and  sublime. 

Why,  in  less  than  a  minute,  did  this  great  complex 
of  vision  and  feeling — the  steadiness  of  this  mighty  thing 
and  the  sunny  beauty  of  the  day — allow  me  to  be  carried 
on  a  flash  of  thought  to  a  terrible  night  in  the  moun- 
tains, when  almighty  power  seemed  to  have  turned  an- 
archist, when  darkness  and  fog  and  rain  depressed  the 
soul,  when  shock  drove  sleep  away,  when  mountain-split- 
ting thunder  made  the  heart  stand  still  and  violated  all 
the  laws  of  order  by  refusing  to  die  away,  when  Echo, 
that  only  murmured  and  babbled  in  the  sunshine,  growled 
and  roared  incessantly  in  a  voice  that  knew  no  modula- 
tion, until  the  cliffs  above  us  quivered  with  excitement? 

The  ocean's  roar  recalled  something  else  that  was 
like  it.  This  law  of  association  by  similarity  lies  at  the 
root  of  the  mind's  most  wonderful  work.  "Birds  of  a 
feather  flock  together"  is  a  law  of  onr  thinking;  and 
maybe  a  law  controlling  the  forces  of  the  universe.  It 
will  bear  much  thinking  about. 

When  once  the  sound  of  Niagara  had  possession  of 
the  mind,  instead  of  recalling  immediately  another  sound, 
it  recalled  all  the  other  experiences  that  the  mind  went 
through  at  the  time  that  sound  was  heard — not  other 
similar  sounds,  but  entirely  different  things,  sunshine, 
flashing  water,  mist  and  rainbow,  and  musings  on  power 
and  eternity.  It  may  be  laid  down  as  another  mental 


ASSOCIATION:    ILLUSTRATIONS  97 

commonplace  that  things  and  qualities  of  every  nature, 
no  matter  how  different  from  each  other  they  may  be,  when 
once  they  are  experienced  together,  will  ever  after  tend 
to  come  back  in  memory  together.  This  law  of  associa- 
tion by  contiguity  causes  all  the  elements  of  an  experi- 
ence, no  matter  how  unlike  they  are,  to  come  trooping 
back  together,  and  usually  in  the  order  in  which  they 
were  first  experienced.  As  soon  as  I  thought  of  Niaga- 
ra's roar,  all  the  other  things  that  I  saw  and  heard  and 
thought  and  felt  at  the  same  time  came  back  until  the 
whole  scene  stood  pictured  before  me  again. 'v 

Then  suddenly  the  noise  of  the  Falls  recalled  the  roar 
of  a  mountain  storm;  but  no  sooner  had  association  by 
similarity  brought  back  the  latter,  than  association  by 
contiguity  recalled  all  the  attendant  circumstances  that 
combined  with  the  noise  to  make  up  a  model  storm.  And 
so  our  thought  trips  on  from  point  to  point  of  our  old 
experiences;  and  all  the  time  by  the  law  of  contiguity, 
the  mind  keeps  the  order  of  experience  that  nature  gave, 
and  by  the  law  of  similarity  creates  out  of  the  chaos  of 
experience  an  order  all  its  own. 

It  is  within  the  range  of  possibility  that,  when  mem- 
ory takes  up  the  thread  of  former  experience,  one  should 
follow  exactly  the  course  of  the  former  experience,  re- 
calling every  attendant  detail  minutely  and  in  its  proper 
place.  Memory  then  would  only  drift  once  more  exactly 
where  the  thought  had  traveled  before.  There  is  a  type 
of  mind  that  tends  to  be  thus  obedient  to  the  law  of  as- 
sociation by  contiguity.  But  by  itself,  it  represents  only 


98  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

a  lower  type  of  mental  power.  I  might,  obedient  to  the 
law  of  similarity,  when  I  see  a  crawling  ant,  recall  in 
dull  succession  all  the  experiences  of  ants  that  I  had 
ever  had,  and  all  in  their  proper  order.  But  it  would  be 
a  stupid  piece  of  work  and  withal  both  unpleasant  and 
unprofitable.  What  actually  happens  is,  that  a  normal 
mind,  in  passing  from  one  object  of  thought  to  another 
under  the  law  of  association  by  similarity  and  contiguity, 
selects  the  experiences  that  were  pleasant  or  impressive, 
that  for  some  reason  or  other,  we  cannot  always  tell 
why,  have  a  sort  of  tone  that  distinguishes  them  from  all 
the  rest,  and  which  at  the  same  time  have  a  pertinent 
bearing  upon  what  is  at  the  time  passing  in  the  mind. 

What  actually  happens,  in  my  own  case,  when  the 
sight  of  a  line  of  black  ants  starts  a  train  of  "thought  at 
all,  is  that  I  recall  a  terrible  battle  between  black  ants 
that  I  witnessed  once  in  a  forest.  The  grim  and  silent 
warriors  fought  till  the  old  log  and  the  ground  around 
it  were  strewn  with  antennae,  legs,  heads  and  beheaded 
bodies.  I  did  not  see  a  coward  among  them.  Every  one 
held  on  until  he  died ;  and  even  the  jaws  of  his  dissevered 
head  stayed  locked  where  he  had  bitten  last,  so  that  his 
enemy  still  carried  his  head  around  as  an  unwelcome 
adornment. 

The  other  thousands  of  droves  of  black  ants  that  I 
have  seen  in  my  life  are  apparently  lost  to  memory;  I 
cannot  recall  the  most  of  them;  all  there  is  left  is  an 
indefinite  impression  of  the  frequency  of  such  a  sight 
and  of  the  numbers  usually  seen.  The  reason  this  par- 


ASSOCIATION:    ILLUSTRATIONS  99 

ticular  scene  associates  itself  so  commonly  with  any  drove 
of  black  ants  that  I  may  see,  is  that  this  experience  was 
new  to  me,  and  striking  and  terrible  in  a  way.  I  had- 
often  wished  to  see  such  a  battle;  had  often  read  about 
the  doughty  little  warriors.  I  was  mentally  prepared  to 
be  interested ;  I  was  in  a  state  of  expectation,  and  ob- 
served all  the  details.  My  mind  worked  vigorously  on 
the  subject  as  the  fight  went  on.  The  impression  it  left 
was  unusual  and  vivid. 

The  sight  of  a  red  ant  much  more  surely  associates 
with  itself  another  experience.  It  always  recalls  the 
little  red  ants  that  crawled  at  their  leisure  through  my 
mustache  while  I  tried  in  vain  to  sleep  on  a  hillside  on 
the  North  Fork  of  the  Stanislaus  River  in  California. 
The  reason  this  particular  scene  occupies  the  right  of 
way  in  the  association  of  my  ideas  is  because  it  was  so 
unique  and  impressive.  I  did  not  dare  to  kill  the  too 
familiar  ants,  because  they  were  more  malodorous  in 
death  than  they  were  in  life.  As  soon  as  the  law  of 
similarity  has  done  its  work  and  called  up  the  hillside 
ants,  the  law  of  contiguity  is  just  as  effective  in  bring- 
ing back  all  the  circumstances  of  that  memorable  scene. 
Every  item  in  it  was  new  and  impressive  on  its  own  ac- 
count. The  uncanny  ants  recall  our  constant  slipping 
down  the  hillside  in  our  blankets  in  spite  of  the  bed  of 
boughs ;  and  then  comes  back  the  thought  of  the  donkey, 
who  ate  patiently  of  a  rotten  log  because  the  sheep  had 
passed  that  way  to  the  high  Sierras,  and  where  the  sheep 
have  been  not  even  a  donkey  can  live  in  comfort.  And 


100  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

her  peculiar  tastes  made  another  deep  impression.  I  had 
often  driven  cows  and  colts  through  the  deep  Wisconsin 
snows  to  browse  the  buds  of  the  new-made  brush  heaps. 
So  we  carried  her  maple  leaves  on  broken  boughs ;  but  she 
preferred  the  rotten  log. 

All  the  details  of  that  night's  experience  were  new 
and  striking,  and  so  they  cling  tenaciously  together  in 
memory;  even  the  little  incidents  of  salt  and  pepper  at 
the  supper-making  drop  into  place  in  the  vivid  procession 
of  images. 

It  is  important  to  realize  that  the  question  as  to  what 
experiences,  what  knowledge,  shall  be  recalled  and  be- 
come associated  with  what  we  happen  at  present  to  be 
thinking  about,  depends  on  how  that  knowledge  or  experi- 
ence was  first  acquired.  The  student  need  not  now 
trouble  himself  about  the  "poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy 
rolling"  and  seeing  similarities  and  connections  among 
things  not  given  to  common  mortals  to  see.  He  needs  to 
impress  himself  with  the  fact  that  those  things  are  most 
likely  to  serve  him  afterward  under  the  law  of  associa- 
tion of  ideas,  which  had  most  interest  for  him  and  im- 
pressed him  most  deeply  at  the  fime  that  they  were  ex- 
perienced. 

There  is  one  other  case  of  association  which  can  be 
distinguished  from  the  two  that  have  been  described. 
Socrates  gave  an  independent  position  to  the  principle 
of  association  by  contrast.  Our  common  speech  and  the 
highest  types  of  literature  are  filled  with  the  idea  of  con- 
trast and  antithesis.  We  think,  as  it  were,  in  extremes. 


ASSOCIATION:    ILLUSTRATIONS  101 

Angels  recall  devils;  good  recalls  evil;  bitter  and  sweet 
are  constant  associates  in  our  thought.  The  "neutral 
tints,"  in  colors,  tastes  or  morals,  do  not  seem  striking 
enough  to  be  easily  associated  in  thought  or  to  appeal  to 
us.  It  would  seem  that  things  that  represent  extremes 
of  difference  are  habitually  thought  of  together  and  that 
association  by  similarity  breaks  down  badly  at  this  point. 

But  analysis  of  the  subject  has  shown  that  the  prin- 
ciple of  contrast  really  comes  under  the  head  of  associa- 
tion by  similarity.  Angels  and  devils  are  only  the  two 
extremes  of  the  same  kind  of  thing.  Bitter  and  sweet 
are  the  two  extremes  of  taste.  In  Pharaoh's  dreams  the 
seven  fat  and  the  seven  lean  kine,  and  the  seven  full  and 
seven  thin  ears  of  corn  betokened  seven  years  of  plenty 
and  seven  more  of  famine.  The  figures  of  the  dreams 
are  true  to  the  fundamental  principle  of  similarity. 
There  is  no  chaotic  mental  confusion  of  years  of  plenty 
with  thin  ears  of  corn.  And  where  the  contrasts  are 
made,  it  is  the  two  extremes  of  the  same  kind  of  thing 
that  are  involved;  the  seven  fat  with  the  seven  lean 
fctrw;  the  seven  full  with  the  seven  thin  ears  of  corn. 
The  mind,  when  it  deals  with  contrasts,  grasps,  as  it  were, 
the  two  ends  of  all  such  series.  Even  then  the  points  of 
similarity  are  emphasized.  No  contrast  is  drawn  between 
things  that  are  fundamentally  unlike.  We  are  not  in- 
clined to  associate  together  by  contrast,  hot  and  yellow, 
goodness  and  the  color  blue. 

Guns  and  powder,  explosion  and  death  have  become 
closely  associated  in  our  minds,  and  we  conduct  ourselves 


102  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

circumspectly.  We  are  so  sure  that  guns  do  not  go  about 
alone,  that  if  we  hear  the  report  of  a  rifle  we  invariably 
look  for  the  man.  Certain  things  have  always  occurred 
together  in  our  experience,  and  we  make  the  grave  as- 
sumption that  they  will  always  occur  together.  When 
one  of  them  comes  to  our  attention  we  immediately  as- 
sume the  existence  of  the  rest.  If  I  see  a  dog's  tail  dis- 
appearing around  the  corner  of  the  house  I  "know"  there 
is  a  dog  at  the  other  end  of  it.  I  have  seen  myriads  of 
dogs'  tails,  but  never  a  tail  traveling  independently.  One 
tail,  one  dog.  Invariable  association  of  the  two  in  my 
experience  has  made  the  association  of  the  two  in  my 
thought  inevitable.  My  eyes  supply  the  tail,  my  mind 
supplies  the  dog  to  complete  the  association. 

This  is  the  power  by  means  of  which  we  are  con- 
stantly piecing  out  our  imperfect  knowledge.  We  act 
all  the  time  upon  our  confidence  that  such  associations  as 
we  have  become  acquainted  with,  are  permanent  and  re- 
liable. I  hear  a  thud  on  the  porch,  and  invariably  act 
in  response  to  it,  because  it  means  that  my  morning  paper 
has  come.  The  dull  thud  has  meaning  only  because  it  is 
associated  in  my  mind  with  so  many  other  things.  That 
is  why  a  single  sound  may  determine  my  occupation  for 
half  an  hour  to  come.  The  law  of  association  gives 
all  their  meaning  to  otherwise  stupid  facts.  Because  this 
is  so,  and  because  the  student's  present  business  in  life 
is  to  train  his  mental  powers,  a  little  attention  to  this  law 
of  association  and  its  bearing  on  the  quality  of  our  knowl- 
edge, is  of  very  great  importance.  All  his  years  of  edu- 


ASSOCIATION:    ILLUSTRATIONS  103 

cation  are,  in  theory  at  least,  a  longdrawn  voluntary 
effort  to  improve  the  quality  of  his  mental  action,  and  to 
secure  accurate  and  valuable  knowledge. 

Now  the  way  in  which  the  different  items  of  his 
knowledge  shall  forever  be  associated  together,  depends 
on  the  way  he  consciously  arranges  them  when  he  first 
comes  in  contact  with  them.  He  is  deliberately  accumu- 
lating material  and  power  for  future  use ;  and  it  behooves 
him  to  remember  that  the  law  of  association  will  faith- 
fully reproduce  his  accumulations,  whether  their  first  ar- 
rangement was  perfect  or  utterly  faulty.  Where  empha- 
sis is  laid  in  the  beginning,  there  will  be  the  facts  which 
force  their  way  into  the  memory  on  the  slightest  provo- 
cation. Flaws  and  errors  come  with  what  is  valuable. 
We  never  recall  everything.  Some  facts  and  experiences 
will  always  hold  the  right  of  way  at  the  expense  of  others 
that  are  bound  to  lose  their  little  vitality  in  the  stalls  of 
memory,  until  they  seem  to  be  hopelessly  lost.  It  is 
vitally  important  that  the  student  shall  deliberately  and 
always  associate  the  items  of  his  knowledge  in  such  an 
order  that  they  will  teach  him  the  most  truth  afterwards, 
"bunch"  them  in  such  an  arrangement  that  when  one  is 
recalled  it  will  always  recall  the  rest.  This  topic  will  be 
treated  more  fully  under  Memory. 

Now  what  is  it  that  determines  which  of  a  thousand 
possible  trains  of  thought  shall  become  the  actual  one? 
We  can  at  least  lay  our  fingers  on  some  of  the  elements 
of  the  answer.  Thought,  as  it  moves  along,  passes  al- 
ways to  the  facts  that  for  some  reason  or  other  are  the 


104  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

most  impressive.  These  are  not  only  easily  acquired,  but 
easily  retained  and  recalled;  they  seem  to  return  almost 
without  invitation.  Others,  which  can  be  recalled  only 
after  the  most  careful  mental  "search,"  are  not  likely  to 
play  a  dominant  part  in  coloring  and  directing  the  course 
of  our  thought. 

It  may  be  laid  down  as  a  fundamental  characteristic 
of  both  men  and  animals  that  we  are  most  interested  in 
a  thing  while  it  is  new  to  us.  That  is  when  it  makes  its 
lasting  impression.  It  is  Nature's  way  of  teaching  her 
children  to  be  careful  and  to  make  each  new  item  of 
knowledge  effective.  Which  of  our  past  experiences  shall 
be  called  upon  and  associated  with  a  present  experience, 
in  what  direction  our  thought  shall  run  when  it  is  stimu- 
lated into  activity  by  a  present  incident,  depends  not  only 
on  the  vividness  of  particular  past  impressions,  but  also 
upon  the  general  drift  of  our  more  recent  thinking. 

In  the  year  1900  I  sat  in  the  sun  and  listened  to  a 
fine  technical  description  of  a  repeating  rifle  that  I  held 
in  my  hands.  The  rifle  made  the  speaker  think  of  the 
coming  vacation  and  the  deer  that  he  would  slay;  for  he 
was  a  Nimrod,  with  more  heart  for  the  forest  than  for 
his  books.  There  was  no  great  probability  that  the  pres- 
ence of  the  gun  would  lead  his  mind  very  far  away  from 
the  thought  of  the  northern  hill  forests.  They  had  the 
right  of  way. 

Before  October  11,  1899,  that  rifle  would  surely  have 
set  me  thinking  about  the  Chippewa  sub-chief  who  in 
the  depths  of  a  Wisconsin  forest,  walked  up  to  me  as  I 


ASSOCIATION :    ILLUSTRATIONS 


105 


sat  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  and  offered  to  sell  me  an  old 
Phoenix  rifle  for  "six  or  five  or  four  dollars."  But  in 
1900,  even  long  after  the  British  had  occupied  the  two 
South  African  Kepublics,  my  whole  thought  was  often 
given  to  the  effect  of  modern  guns  on  human  liberty.  At 
that  particular  time,  therefore,  the  rifle  on  my  knees  at 
once  associated  itself  in  thought  with  the  Boer  war  and 
the  stout  resistance  that  the  handful  of  mounted  farmers 
was  making  to  one  of  the  biggest  and  proudest  armies  on 
earth.  It  led  me  to  think  once  more  that  pipe-clay  and 
uniforms  and  social  distinction  are  no  longer  either  neces- 
sary or  desirable  equipments  of  a  fighting  man ;  that  the 
fighting  unit  would  thereafter  always  be  a  man,  a  horse 
and  a  repeating  rifle.  I  thought  of  this,  too,  which  must 
often  have  impressed  itself  on  many  British  minds,  that 
they  had  met  the  Dutch  before,  and  who  could  know  but 
they  might  have  to  do  it  again  ?  Then  I  thought  of  how 
the  final  stand  in  the  struggle  for  human  liberty  is  al- 
ways made  outdoors  in  the  everlasting  hills.  Boers, 
Cubans,  Swiss  and  Welsh  and  Maccabees  came  back  in 
thought  because  it  was  the  year  nineteen  hundred  when 
I  looked  at  the  repeating  rifle.  The  train  of  thought 
which  the  rifle  would  awaken  was  determined  by  what  I 
had  been  thinking  about  recently. 


106  THE   ART    OF   STUDY 


CHAPTEE  XL 
ASSOCIATION:  THE  ORIGINAL  ORDER  OF  EXPERIENCE. 

It  has  been  said  in  the  previous  chapter  that  there 
are  two  strikingly  different  ways  in  which  the  mind  may 
reconsider  the  knowledge  which  it  possesses,  and  the 
experiences  that  it  has  had.  There  are  two  different 
orders  or  arrangements:  the  order  of  experience  and  the 
order  of  reason.  In  the  former  arrangement  the  law  of 
association  by  contiguity  brings  back  everything  to  the 
mind  in  its  original  setting.  Each  thing  recalls  what 
was  next  to  it  or  associated  with  it  in  time  or  place.  All 
things  that  were  together  once  in  experience  remain  to- 
gether in  the  memory.  If  this  were  the  only  way  in 
which  the  facts  of  our  lives  could  be  associated,  our 
"thinking"  could  never  be  anything  more  than  a  pale, 
emaciated  repetition  of  the  past.  There  could  be  no  new 
combinations  in  our  thought. 

But  even  the  dullest  normal  mind  is  capable  of  tak- 
ing its  past  experience  to  pieces  and  bringing  together  in 
thought  the  things  that  are  in  some  respects  alike.  Two 
experiences  may  be  thought  of  in  succession,  whether  they 
occurred  originally  in  two  successive  hours  of  the  same 
day  or  were  separated  by  a  space  of  twenty  years.  It  is 


ASSOCIATION:    ORDER  OF  EXPERIENCE          107 

their  likeness  to  each  other  that  causes  them  to  be 
brought  together  in  thought. 

These  two  ways  of  associating  the  objects  of  knowl- 
edge or  experience  distinguish  two  radically  different 
types  of  mind.  Every  mind  possesses  both  these  means 
of  association.  But  some  minds  possess  in  a  very  marked 
degree  the  power  of  associating  objects  according  to  their 
likeness;  while  others  seem  to  plod  along  the  old  ruts 
that  were  worn  by  the  original  experiences. 

The  well-balanced  mind,  which  keeps  a  strong  hold 
of  its  past,  in  which  experiences  remain  distinct  and  or- 
derly and  furnish  vivid,  accurate  and  complete  images 
when  they  are  recalled,  and  which  at  the  same  time  pos- 
sesses in  a  marked  degree  the  power  of  rearranging  the 
facts  of  knowledge  and  experience  and  organizing  them 
into  groups  of  like  kinds  upon  which  the  reasoning  pow- 
ers can  be  brought  to  bear,  possesses  in  its  mental  move- 
ment the  two  kinds  of  association  in  a  mutually  helpful 
relation. 

In  order  to  make  clear  how  the  two  kinds  of  asso- 
ciation constantly  intermingle  in  the  course  of  thought, 
I  shall  draw  further  upon  personal  experiences.  The 
reader  himself  can  supply  instances  that  will  suit  his 
purposes  better  than  any  examples  that  can  be  drawn 
from  the  mental  experiences  of  others.  Such  processes 
are  going  on  in  everybody's  mind  all  the  time. 

Whenever  I  hear  or  see  the  word  porcupine  I  imme- 
diately think  of  one  or  another  of  several  experiences. 
But  when  one  has  once  returned  to  memory,  I  am  likely 


108  THE   ART    OF    STUDY 

after  dwelling  upon  it  a  little,  to  pass  to  the  next,  until 
all  the  important  porcupine  experiences  of  my  life  have 
been  recalled. 

The  sight  or  the  sound  of  the  word  is  utterly  unlike 
the  animal  it  stands  for.  The  only  reason  why  the  word 
recalls  the  animal  is  because  that  particular  word  and 
that  particular  animal  have  always  been  associated  by 
contiguity.  When  one  recurs  to  the  mind  it  brings  back 
the  other,  because  they  have  been  in  mind  together  be- 
fore. The  word  always  calls  up  some  individual  porcupine, 
and  usually  the  first  to  respond  is  the  big  female  that  my 
younger  brothers  and  I  smoked  out  of  a  hollow  tree  in 
the  river  bottoms  of  our  native  haunts  one  bright,  cold, 
winter  morning.  As  soon  as  I  think  of  this  animal  the 
whole  flood  of  details  returns.  Each  item  takes  its  place 
where  it  belongs ;  but  no  two  of  them  are  alike.  Memory 
brings  back  the  bits  of  nibbled  bark  on  the  snow  at  the 
bases  of  the  neighboring  trees,  by  means  of  which  we 
located  the  animal.  Then  comes  the  hollow  tree  itself; 
the  failure  of  our  last  match  and  our  final  success  at  mak- 
ing a  fire  by  shooting  a  gun  into  a  carefully  heaped  pile 
of  dry  leaves  and  whittled  shavings ;  the  patience  required 
to  nurse  the  sparks  into  a  flame;  our  cold  hands;  the 
slowness  of  the  smoking  process  because  there  was  no  hole 
above  to  allow  a  draft  to  pass  up  the  tree;  the  tantaliz- 
ing way  in  which  the  porcupine  frequently  backed  down 
near  the  opening  to  get  a  whiff  of  fresh  air;  the  final  sue- 
cessful  struggle;  our  careful  dissection  of  the  animal  af- 
ter we  got  home;  and  the  derisive  remarks  that  our  sis- 


ASSOCIATION:    ORDER  OF  EXPERIENCE          109 

ters  have  hurled  at  us  these  many  years  since  then. 
These  items  never  fail  to  come  back  together.  But  up  to 
this  point  the  association  has  been  entirely  one  of  con- 
tiguity. No  one  of  the  details  is  like  any  of  the  rest. 

But  once  reminded  of  porcupines,  I  often  stay  on  the 
porcupine  trail.  Association  by  similarity  brings  back  an- 
other porcupine:  a  scene  in  which  I  saw  a  young  brute 
dash  a  bucket  of  scalding  water  on  the  poor  beast  as  it 
ran  for  its  life,  and  heard  its  horrible,  long-drawn  squawk 
of  anguish.  Every  detail  of  this  scene  comes  back,  con- 
trolled by  the  law  of  contiguity.  Then  the  law  of  asso- 
ciation by  similarity  carries  me  on  to  a  pest  of  porcupines. 

Way  back  in  the  "woods,"  where  farms  were  new  and 
few,  men  were  building  a  dam  and  a  saw-mill  on  a  little 
stream.  I  was  teaching  school,  and  often  walked  three 
miles  after  school  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  another  set 
of  faces  and  watching  the  men  work.  The  woods  were 
full  of  porcupines,  and  they  had  an  overmastering  pas- 
sion for  the  handles  of  tools — axes,  picks,  spades — and  of- 
ten gnawed  them  nearly  in  two  at  the  places  where  the 
soiled  and  sweaty  hands  of  men  had  rubbed,  and  left  a 
taste  that  those  prickly  wanderers  could  not  forego. 
Having  a  desire  to  help  rid  the  neighborhood  of  the  pest, 
I  always  cut  a  walking  stick  of  hazel  or  water-beech  and 
often  despatched  three  or  four  porcupines  on  a  single 
trip.  In  the  cases  of  some  of  these  experiences  I  can 
after  all  these  years,  recall  the  minutest  details — how  the 
animals  curled  up  for  self-defense  and  even  the  little 
sticks  and  brush  and  logs  that  lay  around.  When  the 


110  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

"memory"  of  these  things  ceases  to  be  interesting  the  law 
of  similarity  brings  back  another  porcupine — one  that  I 
never  saw.  Our  dog  had  had  an  injudicious  fight  with 
him  one  night  and  brought  home  both  his  jaws  full  of 
quills.  His  gaping  mouth,  our  midnight  labors  to  re- 
lieve him,  and  his  almost  human  moans  are  all  kept  to- 
gether by  the  law  of  contiguity. 

Similarity  again  brings  back  porcupines — this  time 
imaginary  ones ;  the  porcupine  trail  of  my  thought  usually 
ends  in  my  early  childhood  at  a  time  when  I  had  never 
yet  seen  a  porcupine  but  had  heard  and  imagined  much 
about  the  animal.  There  was  an  unoccupied  farm  near 
a  place  where  we  often  went  for  raspberries.  Some 
friends  a  little  older  and  much  wiser  than  myself  firmly 
believed  and  taught  me  to  believe  that  on  the  farther 
edge  of  that  field  the  porcupines  sat  in  the  black  and 
blasted  trees  and  threw  their  quills  with  their  tails  at 
passers-by  many  rods  away  on  the  road.  The  farm,  the 
road,  the  distant  trees,  which  I  never  ventured  to  ap- 
proach, the  imagined  shape  and  size  of  the  animals,  the 
very  thoughts  and  feelings  about  that,  my  childhood 
bugaboo,  come  back  in  a  vivid  train.  The  mighty  power 
of  association  by  contiguity  brings  back  the  items  in 
great  sheaves,  just  as  they  were  bound  together  in  the 
original  experience. 

At  this  point  the  porcupine  trail  ends  in  the  trees, 
and  the  law  of  similarity,  taking  another  tack,  tows  my 
thoughts  along  to  the  other  vagaries  of  my  childhood. 
There  is  thus  in  our  common,  unguided  thought  a  con- 


ASSOCIATION:    ORDER  OF  EXPERIENCE         111 

stant  succession  of  associations,  some  sort  of  similarity 
carrying  the  thought  across  the  tracks  of  experience  from 
one  to  another  that  is  like  it ;  and  the  bond  of  contiguity 
calling  up  details  to  fill  out  the  picture  of  each  experience. 

Association  of  ideas  by  contiguity  not  only  makes 
memory  and  an  intellectual  life  possible ;  it  tends  to  make 
us  its  slaves.  If  we  were  to  change  our  terms  a  little  we 
would  find  ourselves  again  discussing  the  subject  of  habit. 
Not  only  are  things  recalled  in  the  groupings  in  which 
they  originally  occurred,  but  usually  in  the  very  same  or- 
der. This  is  especially  true  of  things  that  have  been  fre- 
quently recalled  in  a  given  order.  The  sight  or  sound 
of  the  letter  a  recalls  6,  and  b  recalls  c.  But  c  never 
spontaneously  arouses  thought  of  &;  and  the  bond  of  asso- 
ciation is  not  from  b  to  a.  It  is  hardly  possible  to  realize 
how  vastly  important  this  tendency  of  mind  is.  Without 
it  there  would  be  inevitable  mental  chaos.  Attention  is 
elsewhere  called  to  the  fact  that  the  letters  of  the  alphabet 
can  be  arranged  in  so  many  different  ways  that  a  hundred 
million  men  working  steadily  for  a  hundred  million  years, 
and  writing  each  forty  sheets  a  day  and  on  each  sheet 
forty  different  arrangements,  would  not  at  the  end  of 
that  time  have  exhausted  all  the  possible  arrangements. 

Now  it  is  possible  to  imagine  a  condition  of  mind 
in  which  experience  could  not  be  recalled  in  the  original 
order.  But  mental  chaos  would  be  the  result.  There 
would  be  no  stability  of  knowledge  and  mental  progress 
would  be  impossible.  So  strong  is  this  tendency  to  asso- 
ciate things  in  the  order  in  which  they  were  first  learned 


112  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

or  experienced  that  we  are  rarely  tempted  to  try  any 
other  way.  If  the  effort  is  made  at  all,  we  pitch  upon  the 
reverse  order;  we  say  the  alphabet  backwards.  This  is 
the  next  easiest  thing  because  the  letters  retain  their 
same  relative  positions.  There  are  other,  more  sensible 
arrangements  of  the  alphabet  than  the  one  we  all  have 
learned,  but  the  scientific  superiority  of  such  an  arrange- 
ment is  of  no  help  to  us  unless  we  have  learned  to  asso- 
ciate the  letters  in  the  new  order. 

What  is  true  of  the  alphabet  is  true  of  the  multiplica- 
tion table.  Each  item  recalls  the  next  in  the  order  in 
which  they  were  first  learned.  The  same  is  true  of  the 
declension  of  a  noun  or  the  conjugation  of  a  verb.  If 
anything  is  thought  of,  it  only  recalls  the  part  that  im- 
mediately followed  it  in  the  original  arrangement. 

How  does  the  mind  "find"  a  fact  that  it  has  "lost"? 
By  hunting  for  it  among  the  facts  that  were  known  to  be 
its  original  associates.  If  an  umbrella  is  left  somewhere 
on  a  shopping  tour  the  owner  seeks  first  of  all  to  recall 
to  mind  the  last  place  where  he  is  sure  he  had  it.  At 
every  stopping  place,  by  diligent  search  the  umbrella  can 
be  made  to  reappear  among  its  associates.  Its  presence 
there  is  connected  with  everything  that  was  done  at  that 
point.  By  and  by  a  place  is  reached  where  the  umbrella 
no  longer  forms  a  part  of  the  recalled  experience.  Now 
vigorous  attention  to  details  will  soon  reveal  the  place 
where  it  disappeared.  So  small  a  matter  as  opening  the 
door  with  the  umbrella  hand  will  show  that  it  was  gone 
when  that  place  was  reached. 


ASSOCIATION:    ORDER  OF  EXPERIENCE         113 

What  is  true  of  a  lost  umbrella  is  true  of  any  fact 
that  we  seek  to  recall.  We  call  up  all  the  facts  with 
which  it  was  associated,  and  they,  by  their  combined  in- 
fluence, bring  back  the  fact  that  is  sought.  It  will  return 
almost  involuntarily  as  a  member  of  a  group,  whereas  a 
sheer  effort  to  remember  it  might  be  forever  in  vain. 

Sometimes  when  in  my  boyhood,  the  herd  had  been 
started  homeward  on  the  trail,  I  would  find  a  heifer  miss- 
ing, and  would  worry  over  her  absence.  A  long  and  anx- 
ious search  was  usually  in  vain.  After  some  experience 
I  learned  that  it  was  perfectly  safe  to  leave  such  a  heifer 
to  her  own  wits,  as  long  as  I  took  care  of  her  associates. 
Usually  within  five  minutes  she  would  gallop  into  the 
herd  and  "bathe  herself  in  their  companionship."  Her 
life  could  not  be  lived  apart  from  them.  And  so  of  facts. 
No  matter  what  sort  of  fact  it  may  be,  its  old  associates 
will  drag  it  along  with  them.  If  they  are  all  called  in  and 
kept  before  the  thought  it  will  soon  b'e  found  among 
them. 


114  THE    ART   OF   STUDY 


CHAPTER  XII. 

ASSOCIATION    ACCORDING    TO    SIMILARITY. 

The  power  to  reproduce  the  items  of  our  knowledge 
and  experience  in  the  order  in  which  they  were  first  met 
cannot  be  over-rated.  But  no  matter  how  powerfully  a 
mind  may  be  gifted  in  this  respect,  it  will  always  remain 
a  commonplace,  prosaic,  encyclopedic  mind,  unless  it  is 
likewise  gifted  with  the  power  of  association  by  similarity. 
While  the  former  reproduces  experience,  the  latter  re- 
arranges knowledge  in  the  order  of  reason,  the  order  in 
which  the  higher  activities  of  the  intellect  can  be  brought 
to  play  upon  it. 

The  poetic  mind,  that  speaks  in  figures  of  speech, 
that  makes  those  noiseless,  ineffable  allusions  and  the 
mighty  sweeps  of  thought  and  feeling  that  make  our 
spirits  quiver  in  the  reading,  owes  its  power  to  the  gift 
of  association  by  similarity.  Sooner  or  later  every  think- 
ing mind  must  organize  its  knowledge  by  bringing  to- 
gether the  things  that  are  alike,  and  habitually  thinking 
of  them  together.  When  we  begin  to  think  in  similars 
it  becomes  possible  to  extract  general  truths  from  the 
jumble  of  facts. 

No  two  things  are  exactly  alike  in  all  respects. 
When  the  mind  associates  things  together  on  the  basis 


ASSOCIATION  ACCORDING  TO  SIMILARITY      115 

of  similarity,  it  selects  only  one  or  a  few  of  the  qualities 
of  each  object  for  comparison.  In  the  rhyme  beginning 

"Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star," 

the  association  of  the  star  and  the  diamond  in  the  simile 
is  based  on  the  single  quality  of  brightness.  When  a 
poetic  author  describes  the  mist  and  says  that  the  young 
beech  wept  tears  for  its  mother  that  fell  in  the  storm, 
the  likeness  on  which  the  figure  of  speech  is  based  is 
only  that  of  the  trickling  and  dropping  water.  But  an 
association  like  this  is  powerful  by  its  suggestiveness. 
The  association,  though  based  on  a  single  quality,  when 
it  is  once  made,  opens  the  way  to  personification  and  a 
transfer  of  all  the  other  human  qualities  usually  asso- 
ciated with  tears — darkness  and  death  and  woe — to  the 
weeping  tree. 

All  human  thought  and  speech  are  permeated  by 
the  principle  of  association  by  similarity.  We  con- 
stantly think  and  speak  of  things  that  are  like  the  par- 
ticular thing  we  are  dealing  with.  We  cannot  even  say 
of  a  smiling  baby  that  it  has  a  rosy  complexion,  or  of 
a  fool  that  his  conduct  was  asinine,  or  of  a  quarrel  that 
there  was  a  heated  discussion,  without  making  use  of  the 
principle.  Not  only  adjectives  but  nouns  owe  their  sug- 
gestiveness and  usefulness  to  this  kind  of  association. 
The  indescribable  and  mysterious  power  of  speech  of 
poetic  men,  that  quality  of  words  which  seems  to  open 
up  dim  and  distant  vistas  of  thought  without  giving  ex- 
pression to  it,  is  due  in  great  part  to  intangible  assccia- 


116  THE    ART   OF   STUDY 

tions  by  similarity.  The  dull  associations  of  our  com- 
monplace minds  carry  with  them  nothing  of  that  unex- 
pressed suggestiveness. 

In  more  prosy  matters,  in  history  and  science,  we  do 
not  go  so  far  afield  in  making  comparisons,  but  even  here 
the  ablest  minds  possess  a  subtle  power  of  penetration, 
insight  that  is  akin  to  the  poet's  power,  and  is  based  on 
the  ability  to  recognize  resemblances  between  things  that 
are  far  apart  or  seem  very  unlike.  It  is  this  subtle  power 
of  suggestion,  which  the  principle  of  association  accord- 
ing to  similarities  possesses,  that  makes  the  thought  of 
some  men  so  rich  and  fruitful. 

But  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  the  student's  busi- 
ness of  acquisition?  Everything.  To  my  thinking,  the 
student's  most  critical  experience  with  any  piece  of 
knowledge  is  his  first  contact  with  it.  What  he  does  with 
it  then  determines  forever  its  usefulness  to  him.  If  he 
takes  the  time  to  understand  a  fact  thoroughly,  and 
deliberately  seeks  to  associate  it  at  once  with  as  many 
other  related  facts  as  possible,  if  it  is  made  a  part  of  a 
well-knit,  valuable  group  of  similar  facts,  it  will  forever 
be  his  faithful  servant.  Memory  will  find  it  no  burden, 
because  it  is  associated  with  its  like,  attention  will  hover 
over  it,  interest  will  cling  to  it  for  the  sake  of  its  asso- 
ciations. It  will  yield  itself  readily  to  the  uses  of  reason, 
because,  by  being  associated  with  related  facts,  it  is  in 
a  position  to  corroborate  the  truth  they  have  to  tell. 

Of  course,  this  all  looks  well  on  paper;  but  it  takes 
time,  and  a  great  deal  of  it,  to  deal  thus  deliberately  with 


ASSOCIATION  ACCORDING  TO   SIMILARITY      117 

every  new  fact.  It  requires  reflection,  comparison,  the 
exercise  of  all  the  intellectual  powers  upon  each  new  fact 
as  it  comes  up.  It  is  a  time-killing  process.  Time  can 
be  saved  temporarily  by  merely  memorizing  the  fact  off 
hand  without  reflection,  and  without  trying  to  get  its 
bearings. 

Near  a  railway  station  at  which  a  narrow-gauge  and 
a  broad-gauge  road  cross  and  run  parallel  for  some  dis- 
tance, I  always  took  a  lively  interest  in  the  race  out  of 
the  station  between  the  light  narrow-gauge  engine  with 
its  train  of  dainty  cars  and  the  more  ponderous  engine 
with  its  heavy  broad-gauge  load.  Invariably  the  little 
engine  crept  ahead  and  soon  was  away  in  the  lead,  puffing 
defiance  at  its  cumbersome  rival.  But  the  laws  of  physics 
were  on  the  side  of  the  broad-gauge  engine.  It  lost  in 
speed  at  first  because  it  was  gathering  up  momentum. 
Its  loss  was  only  apparent.  Rod  by  rod  it  gained  again 
and  fairly  rushed  past  the  other  train,  leaving  its  spit- 
ting and  coughing  little  rival  hopelessly  behind.  Size 
and  weight — its  temporary  handicap — constituted  its  per- 
manent superiority  after  the  lapse  of  the  first  few  min- 
utes. 

There  are  also  a  narrow-gauge  and  a  broad-gauge  way 
of  coming  in  contact  with  and  disposing  of  knowledge  for 
future  use.  The  constant  temptation  is  to  seek  present 
effects  and  be  content  with  them.  But  the  time  spent 
on  each  fact  as  it  comes  up  gives  permanent  momentum 
to  it.  When  once  the  momentum  of  carefully  wrought- 
out  knowledge  is  brought  to  bear  on  further  acquisition, 


118  THE   ART   OF   STUDY 

it  simply  overwhelms  the  more  usual,  time-serving 
method.  I  believe  that  the  failure  of  the  student  to  form 
the  habit  of  associating  every  new  fact  carefully  with 
others  to  which  it  is  related  is  the  most  serious  draw- 
back to  intellectual  progress.  And  I  believe  that  he  is 
an  intellectual  master  who  has  once  learned  to  seek  the 
full  significance  and  all  the  bearings  of  each  new  fact  on 
the  spot,  and  binds  it  tip  with  its  proper  associates,  so 
that  it  will  forever  after  reappear  in  its  right  place,  and 
reveal  each  time  its  proper  message.  He  has  entered 
within  the  inner  veil  of  learning  and  intellectual  power. 
The  student  who  does  not  at  least  seek  to  develop  this 
habit  had  better  leave  his  studies  and  go  to  chasing  the 
butterflies  and  bees  for  fun. 


ASSOCIATION:    PRACTICAL  APPLICATIONS       119 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
ASSOCIATION:  SOME  PRACTICAL  APPLICATIONS. 

It  was  pointed  out  in  a  previous  chapter  that  words 
are  associated  with  the  objects  for  which  they  stand  by 
the  principle  of  contiguity.  As  a  rule,  the  word  and  the 
object  have  nothing  in  common.  The  word  ox  recalls  the 
hollow-horned,  cloven-hoofed,  cud-chewing  beast,  because 
it  has  always  been  associated  with  these  qualities,  not  be- 
cause it  is  like  any  or  all  of  them.  Words  are  the  sym- 
bols used  to  represent  things  that  are  not  present. 
Their  function  is  to  recall  to  mind  the  objects  them- 
selves. 

Among  all  the  associations  which  the  intellect  is 
called  upon  to  form,  the  most  commonplace  and  most 
important  is  the  association  between  words  and  the  ideas 
and  objects  for  which  those  words  stand.  Our  whole  in- 
tellectual life  is  based  on  this  system  of  symbols.  If  a 
word,  whenever  it  is  seen  or  heard,  calls  up  vividly  the 
object  for  which  it  stands — if  there  is  a  real  association 
between  the  word  and  the  object — the  individual's 
thought  will  be  vivid  and  substantial. 

Now  a  man  of  very  poor  imagination  or  thinking 
powers  is  often  also  a  man  of  few  words;  and  a  man  of 
great  intellectual  power  is  likely  to  have  command  of  a 


120  THE   ART   OF   STUDY 

large  vocabulary,  or,  if  his  words  are  few,  he  is  likely 
to  be  a  master  in  their  use.  But  it  is  not  true  that  a 
man  with  a  large  vocabulary  is  necessarily  a  profound 
or  vivid  thinker.  Training  in  the  use  of  words  alone 
does  not  improve  the  quality  of  one's  thinking.  Vitality 
of  thought  depends  on  the  vitality  of  association  between 
words  and  the  things  they  stand  for,  or  whether,  when 
a  word  is  seen  or  heard  or  thought  about,  it  will  actually 
recall  the  object. 

A  great  deal  has  been  said  about  our  modern  wordy 
education;  we  multiply  words  and  in  doing  so  actually 
flush  out  of  our  minds  what  knowledge  and  power  is 
already  there.  We  tend  to  deal  with  words  as  we  do 
with  algebraic  symbols — we  combine  and  separate  them 
in  their  grammatical  relations  with  hardly  a  thought  of 
what  those  words  are  standing  for.  This  tendency  to 
deal  with  the  symbol  and  neglect,  in  our  thinking,  the 
thing  for  which  the  symbol  stands,  is  largely  due  to  the 
fact  that  we  have  words  for  very  many  things  which  we 
have  never  seen  or  experienced  at  all.  With  the  great 
modern  increase  of  books  and  periodicals  this  tendency 
threatens  to  become  chronic. 

If  one  has  actually  heard  or  seen  or  felt  something 
and  then  gets  a  word  to  serve  as  the  symbol  of  it,  the 
association  between  the  word  and  the  thing  it  stands  for 
is  likely  to  be  very  close.  If  the  quantity  of  our  actual 
experience  can  be  made  to  keep  some  sort  of  pace  with 
the  growth  of  our  vocabulary,  there  will  be  less  danger  of 
the  failure  to  associate  word  and  thing.  So  much  of  our 


ASSOCIATION:    PRACTICAL  APPLICATIONS       121 

knowledge  comes  to  us  at  second  hand  that  many  of  us 
become  mere  traders  in  words.  We  think  only  words; 
and  the  things  themselves,  but  poorly  represented  by  con- 
fused imagery,  tend  to  drop  entirely  out  of  consideration. 

A  little  attention  to  the  symbols  of  arithmetic  and 
algebra  will  make  the  subject  plainer.  Francis  Gal  ton 
tells  of  a  South  African  native  who  would  give  one  sheep 
for  two  plugs  of  tobacco,  but  would  not  give  two  sheep 
for  four  plugs.  He  had  a  very  practical  interest  in  real 
things,  but  mathematical  symbols  were  missing,  so  he 
could  not  carry  his  thought  beyond  the  first  simple  step. 
A  farmer  who  has  five  horses  worth  one  hundred  dollars 
apiece  is  likely  to  make  full  use  of  arithmetic.  He  has 
learned  that  5x100=500  under  all  circumstances ;  it  is  al- 
ways true  for  him,  no  matter  whether  he  is  dealing  with 
sheep  or  horses  or  pebbles  on  a  beach.  But  his  interest 
is  likely  to  be  always  practical.  He  is  not  likely  to  con- 
tent himself  with  the  thought  that  5x100=500.  For  him 
the  symbols  of  arithmetic  will  have  horses  and  dollars  as 
their  material  associates. 

But  if,  instead  of  being  a  farmer,  one  is  merely 
studying  arithmetic,  real  objects  are  no  longer  an  im- 
portant consideration.  5  and  100  may  stand  for  any  ob- 
jects whatever;  the  relations  between  the  quantities  be- 
come the  chief  consideration.  Then  one  begins  to  deal 
with  numbers  alone.  Quite  early  in  a  child's  study  of 
arithmetic  it  ceases  to  think  of  any  objects  that  the 
numbers  might  represent.  It  is  a  dealer  in  numbers  and 
not  horses. 


122  THE   ART   OF   STUDY 

In  algebra  the  mathematician  still  further  strips  the 
process  of  concreteness.     In  the  simple  equation  — 


x  and  y  not  only  do  not  represent  material  objects, 
they  do  not  even  represent  any  particular  num- 
bers. They  teach  nothing  about  horses  or  sheep  or 
numbers.  They  are  symbols  pure  and  simple,  stripped  of 
all  connection  with  real  things.  In  algebra  the  interest 
does  not  lie  in  the  objects  that  a  and  &,  x  and  y  might 
represent;  it  is  the  relation  between  quantities  that  is  the 
subject  of  study.  The  fact  that  the  sum  of  two  quanti- 
ties (whatever  they  may  be)  multiplied  by  itself  equals 
the  sum  of  the  squares  of  those  two  quantities  plus  twice 
the  product  of  the  first  by  the  second,  is  what  is  intended 
to  be  taught.  Neither  the  x  nor  the  y,  nor  their  various 
combinations  call  up  an  image,  because  they  are  not 
symbols  of  anything  in  particular.  Here  we  have  a 
whole  science  which  deals  with  mere  symbols  that  have 
no  association  with  real  objects  or  ideas.  The  symbols 
are  purposely  stripped  of  all  specific  meaning,  and  when 
once  the  mind  has  begun  to  lay  stress  on  the  relations 
of  increase,  decrease  and  equality,  it  readily  drops  all 
thought  of  any  real  things  for  which  the  symbols  might 
stand.  It  is  this  readiness  of  the  mind  to  lose  the  asso- 
ciation between  a  word  and  the  thing  it  stands  for,  and  to 
deal  with  the  word  by  itself,  treating  it  as  an  indefinite 
symbol  which  awakens  no  clear  image,  that  makes  a 
"wordy"  education  such  a  common  and  such  a  valueless 
thing. 


ASSOCIATION:    PRACTICAL  APPLICATIONS       123 

Just  as  soon  as  words  are  combined  into  sentences 
the  mind  has  grammatical  relations  among  words  to 
deal  with,  as  in  algebra  it  deals  with  quantitative  rela- 
tions. Now  if  the  association  between  the  words  and  the 
things  they  stand  for  is  hazy  and  precarious,  it  is  likely 
to  be  lost  sight  of  altogether.  The  mind  dwells  on  the 
grammatical  relations  and  the  words  serve  merely  as  in- 
definite symbols,  like  x  and  y.  In  this  mental  state  one 
can  read  a  whole  page  and  when  he  reaches  the  bottom 
not  know  anything.  This  is,  in  short,  accepting  words  as 
a  substitute  for  a  real  knowledge  of  things. 

It  is  hardly  fair  to  call  this  an  intellectual  crime, 
for  crime  is  supposed  to  be  an  act  contrary  to  the  gen- 
eral practice  of  the  community  in  which  the  act  is  done. 
When  a  whole  community  indulges  in  conduct  so  coarse 
that  it  is  indefensible  from  our  standpoint,  and  lacks 
certain  powers  and  qualifications,  we  do  not  call  it  a  com- 
munity of  criminals.  We  only  say  it  is  at  a  low  stage 
of  civilization.  By  the  same  token,  the  defect  that  has 
been  discussed  is  not  an  intellectual  crime,  for  it  is  the 
common  failing  of  reading  communities.  Words  are 
multiplied  and  the  growth  of  real  knowledge  and  intel- 
lectual power  come  crawling  slowly  after.  It  is  the  easi- 
est thing  to  do  at  any  given  time,  and  the  worst  of  all 
the  habits  that  the  student  can  fall  into. 

There  is  only  one  antidote  for  this  constant  menace 
to  real  culture,  perpetual  care  that  real  things  shall  be 
the  objects  of  thought.  To  one  who  has  ever  tasted  an 
orange,  the  word  has  permanent,  pleasant  associations, 


124  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

they  seem  to  become  a  part  of  it,  so  that  the  word  itself 
almost  seems  to  be  pleasant.  One  experience  with  a 
skunk  will  make  the  name  forever  odious.  It  could  never 
thereafter  be  used  as  a  symbol  for  pleasant  objects  of 
thought.  In  these  cases,  the  association  of  word  with 
the  object  it  stands  for  is  extremely  close. 

But  when  we  pass  to  the  higher  realms  of  thought 
and  feeling,  and  speak  of  elegance  and  grandeur,  many 
people  who  are  perfectly  familiar  with  the  words  cannot 
call  up  any  definite  ideas  for  which  the  words  stand. 
They  are  merely  indefinite  symbols.  What  does  grandeur 
mean  to  one  who  has  never  seen  anything  but  the  com- 
monplace ?  Slight  and  superficial  contact  with  facts  and 
a  large  vocabulary  produce  a  mental  condition  in  which 
even  the  few  real  objects  of  experience  can  play  no  effec- 
tive part  in  thought.  To  a  man  who  has  had  a  wide  ex- 
perience, grandeur  calls  up  the  chaotic  bulk  and  beauty 
of  a  mountain  range,  the  irresistible  storm  at  sea,  or  the 
stately  charm  of  a  mighty  temple.  Only  he  who  has 
seen  and  heard  and  felt  things  like  those  he  reads  about 
can  keep  a  close  association  between  words  and  things; 
because  he  has  vivid  and  appropriate  images  stored  away 
that  are  called  up  when  the  words  are  used.  As  soon  as 
a  student  loses  his  contact  with  facts,  his  education  be- 
comes a  jugglery  with  empty  symbols. 

While  there  is  a  great  and  fundamental  difficulty  in 
keeping  up  a  vital  association  between  words  and  the 
ideas  they  represent  in  studying  in  one's  native  tongue, 
this  difficulty  is  many  fold  greater  in  the  study  of  a 
foreign  language.  Let  us  begin  with  an  actual  case. 


ASSOCIATION:    PRACTICAL   APPLICATIONS       125 

An  English-speaking  student,  in  reading  half  a  page 
of  German,  twice  met  the  word  Eisen  (iron),  once  near 
the  top  of  the  page  and  again  near  the  end  of  the  pas- 
sage. He  had  "studied  the  lesson,"  but  when  he  met 
the  word  at  the  top  of  the  page  he  had  forgotten  its 
meaning  and  had  to  he  told.  Now  merely  being  told 
a  thing  is  the  poorest  way  to  learn  it.  So  he  immediately 
forgot  again.  When  he  met  the  word  a  second  time,  and 
did  not  know  it,  his  attention  was  called  to  the  same  word 
at  the  top  of  the  page.  He  remembered  then  that  he  had 
seen  it,  but  could  not  recall  its  meaning.  This  seems  like 
an  extreme  case.  But  he  was  capable  of  doing  good 
work  as  a  student ;  and  his  case  was  very  common,-  and 
illustrates  a  natural  tendency. 

What  was  the  matter?  He  failed  to  develop  any 
kind  of  association  for  the  word  Eisen,  when  he  first 
met  it,  and  consequently  it  was  a  stranger  to  him  every 
time  he  saw  it.  Let  us  see  what  even  a  student  of  ele- 
mentary German  could  have  done  with  the  word,  if  he 
had  been  willing  to  make  the  student's  sacrifice.  By 
close  attention  to  the  context  in  which  the  word  first 
occurred  he  could  have  associated  its  meaning  with  all 
the  rest  of  the  words  that  formed  its  surroundings.  He 
might  be  unable  to  tell  what  it  meant  the  next  time  he 
met  it,  but  by  reverting  to  its  first  occurrence,  he  would 
have  recalled  its  meaning  without  fail.  This  is  a  very 
common  way  of  remembering  things. 

A  better  way  would  have  been  to  establish,  by  men- 
tal effort,  a  strong  association  between  the  German  word 


126  THE   ART    OF   STUDY 

Eisen  and  the  English  word  iron.  This  could  have  been 
done  in  either  of  two  ways :  first,  by  the  principle  of  con- 
tiguity, bringing  the  two  words  together  and  thinking  of 
them  together  until  one  would  recall  the  other;  second, 
by  the  principle  of  similarity,  making  note  of  their  resem- 
blances and  differences.  In  this  latter  method  we  fall 
upon  an  example  of  how  much  easier  it  is  to  remember 
things  in  groups,  how  much  easier  it  is  to  remember  each 
fact  as  a  member  of  a  class  than  it  is  to  remember  it 
without  such  associations. 

By  working  upon  the  principle  of  similarity  the  stu- 
dent could  instantaneously  have  made  note  of  the  fact 
that  the  German  word  has  the  letter  5  where  the  English 
word  has  r,  and  that  the  two  words  are  otherwise  alike 
in  sound.  That  is  to  say,  they  are  alike,  with  a  differ- 
ence. This  alone  ought  to  make  the  word  recall  its 
proper  English  meaning  in  any  connection.  But  that 
particular  difference  might  be  a  troublesome  little  item 
to  remember.  Now  if,  instead  of  being  content  with 
what  he  could  see  at  a  glance,  the  student  had  had  enough 
of  the  scholar's  instinct  to  pursue  the  matter  at  all,  he 
would  have  learned  that  the  troublesome  little  difference, 
an  s  for  an  r,  is  itself  an  example  of  a  whole  class  of  like 
occurrences,  that  it  illustrates  the  tendency  to  rhotaciem, 
to  change  an  *  into  an  r  in  the  Indo-European  languages. 
Not  only  would  it  have  been  remembered  forever  that 
Eisen  means  iron;  the  strange  relation  of  the  two  words 
to  each  other  would  have  opened  up  a  whole  new  field 
of  associations.  The  mind  would  thenceforth  be  ready 


ASSOCIATION:     PRACTICAL  APPLICATIONS       127 

to  notice  a  rhotacism  wherever  it  occurred.  Was  and 
were,  lose  and  forlorn  in  English,  Eisen  and  iron,  Hose 
and  hare,  in  German  to  English;  genus  and  genera  in 
Latin,  would  sooner  or  later  all  fall  into  the  new  group 
of  facts.  Not  only  is  a  word  more  easily  remembered 
thus ;  that  is  the  way  a  scholar  is  made.  Instead  of  hav- 
ing one  paltry  association  by  contiguity  with  the  English 
word,  the  German  word  becomes  the  type  of  a  whole 
class,  the  example  of  a  linguistic  tendency. 

It  takes  time  and  mental  power  to  work  this  way. 
The  sooner  the  fact  is  recognized  and  acted  upon  the 
better.  There  is  no  other  right  way.  It  is  easier  to 
brace  up  a  rotten  fence-post  than  it  is  to  set  a  new  one. 
But  there  is  not  much  difference,  aside  from  cuffs  and 
collar,  between  a  slovenly  farmer  and  a  slovenly  student. 

There  is  another  and  still  better  way  to  deal  with 
the  word  Eisen,  and  that  is  to  form  a  strong  mental  asso- 
ciation between  the  word  and  the  substance  for  which 
it  stands.  I  have  known  little  German  children,  who 
learned  to  speak  English  well  in  six  weeks.  Their  vocab- 
ulary, at  the  end  of  that  time,  was  not  large,  but  the  asso- 
ciations between  words  and  the  objects  for  which  they 
stand  was  perfectly  correct.  They  might  have  studied 
English  out  of  books  for  two  years  and  still  be  very  un- 
certain about  the  meanings  of  their  words.  Their  suc- 
cess and  their  certainty  were  due  to  the  fact  that  they 
did  not  try  to  associate  the  new  English  words  with  the 
old,  familiar  German  words.  They  saw  the  objects  first 
and  then  heard  English  words  for  them.  They  asso- 


128  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

elated  the  new  English  words  directly  with  the  old, 
familiar  things. 

The  reason  why  the  great  majority  of  able  German, 
Greek  and  Latin  scholars  are  utterly  unable  to  speak 
the  languages  of  which  they  are  in  all  other  respects 
such  perfect  masters,  is  because  they  associate  the  for- 
eign words  first  with  the  words  of  their  native  tongue, 
and  then  the  object  itself  is  thought  about  in  English. 
If  they  would  do  as  the  little  immigrants  did,  associate 
the  foreign  words  directly  with  the  things  for  which 
they  stand,  aqua  with  the  liquid  itself  instead  of  the 
word  water,  they  would  talk  the  new  language  readily  too. 

It  is  not  easy  at  first  to  understand  how  much  more 
readily  words  are  remembered  and  how  much  more  effec- 
tively they  can  be  handled,  if  all  their  possible  associa- 
tions are  fully  under  control.  It  may  seem  as  if  the 
discussion  were  running  to  a  fine  point  now  instead  of 
dealing  with  large  and  important  questions  of  scholar- 
ship. But  what  has  been  said  lies  at  the  very  founda- 
tion of  good  thinking.  Any  one  can  readily  test  the  mat- 
ter in  a  simple  way  by  copying  a  long  quotation.  In 
reading  half  of  a  sentence  or  long  clause  and  then  break- 
ing off  to  copy,  the  words  convey  no  meaning;  they  are 
only  an  arbitrary  succession  of  symbols,  and  are  very 
hard  to  remember  even  till  they  can  be  written  down. 
But  if  one  reads  the  clause  or  sentence  to  a  finish,  so 
that  the  thought  expressed  in  the  words  is  grasped  by  the 
mind,  the  words  are  held  in  place  by  their  association. 
One  can  remember  more  of  them  and  remember  them 
longer. 


ASSOCIATION:    PRACTICAL  APPLICATIONS       129 

Items  that  are  in  any  way  related  help  each  other  to 
be  remembered.  Thus,  "Man  is  made  for  action"  can  be 
fairly  well  remembered.  But  "Man  is  made  for  action, 
and  not  for  subtle  reasoning,"  has  much  more  than  double 
the  power  over  the  memory,  for  the  two  opposing 
thoughts  constantly  reinforce  each  other.  It  is  like 
standing  on  two  legs  instead  of  one.  They  reinforce 
even  by  opposing  each  other. 

One  of  the  chief  tasks  of  the  active  mind  is  to  ar- 
range things  in  such  a  way  that  the  associations  be- 
tween them  will  be  strong  and  helpful.  The  usual  ar- 
rangement of  things  is  not  always  the  most  helpful  one. 
Ordinarily,  learning  the  names  of  the  letters  of  the  Ger- 
man alphabet  is  a  confusing  and  uninteresting  task. 
Many  students  never  succeed  completely.  The  differ- 
ences between  the  names  of  the  same  letters  in  the  two 
languages  seem  to  be  haphazard.  But  if  those  differences 
are  grouped  into  similarities,  they  can  all  be  learned  cor- 
rectly and  permanently  in  a  few  minutes.  Thus: 
English  be,  ce,  de,  e,  ge,  pe,  fet  become,  in  German  ,  "ba,  tsa, 
da,  a,  ga,  pa,  ta;  and  can  be  learned  almost  in  a  trice,  if 
the  mind  will  only  look  for  the  similarities  and  see  for 
itself  that  wherever  the  English  has  a  final  long  e,  the 
sound  becomes  in  German  a  final  long  a  (as  pronounced 
>n  English).  Wherever  English  has  initial  short  £,  ef, 
?/,  em,  en,  es,  the  German  has  the  same  sound.  Thus 
half  of  the  alphabet  is  already  disposed  of,  and  in  such 
a  way  that  it  cannot  be  forgotten.  The  other  letters  can 
be  dealt  with  partly  in  the  same  way  and  partly  as 


130  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

anomalies.  But  even  the  latter  are  capable  of  partial 
association  by  careful  comparison  with  the  English. 
However  imperfect  such  a  help  may  be  it  nevertheless 
represents  simply  and  clearly  the  principle  of  reducing 
the  number  of  separate  unrelated  things  to  be  learned 
by  arranging  them  in  groups  and  learning  to  work  by 
means  of  the  similarities  on  which  the  whole  groups  are 
based. 

Even  among  words  themselves  it  is  possible  to  make 
such  groupings,  which  increase  enormously  the  power 
of  the  mind  to  understand  their  meanings  and  remember 
them.  Infer,  prefer,  refer,  defer ,  confer ,  efferent,  circum- 
ference and  all  their  relatives  can  be  made  useful  members 
of  the  vocabulary  if  the  common  element  (fero,  to  bear) 
ie  recognized  and  used  in  trying  to  understand  them. 
This  process,  of  course,  at  once  involves  a  separate 
consideration  of  each  of  the  Latin  prefixes,  circum, 
con,  de,  e,  in,  pre,  re.  When  this  is  done  there  is  already 
in  the  hands  of  the  student  a  power  which  he  cannot 
overestimate.  Fero,  duco,  mttto,  and  every  one  of  the 
other  simple  Latin  words  becomes  the  center  of  a  whole 
group. 

It  is  not  always  desirable  to  follow  such  a  line  of 
thought  to  its  limit  whenever  it  comes  up;  but  it  is  emi- 
nently desirable  that  the  mind  should  cultivate  the  habit 
of  dealing  with  its  knowledge  in  this  way. 

Nothing  can  be  more  disastrous  to  healthy  intellec- 
tual progress  than  the  desultory,  inaccurate,  ineffective 
thinking  built  upon  facts  that  are  thrown  together  in 


ASSOCIATION:    PRACTICAL  APPLICATIONS      131 

the  mind  without  care,  that  are  not  arranged  in  natural 
groups.  One  may  know  that  Washington  was  born  in 
1732  and  that  good  potatoes  can  be  grown  on  sandy 
soil ;  that  red  squirrels  can  tell  a  good  nut  from  a  bad 
one  and  that  Sir  Galahad's  strength  was  as  the  strength 
of  ten  because  his  heart  was  pure.  Every  one  of  these 
facts  is  interesting;  but  can  these  four  facts  be  put 
together  so  that  men  can  reason  about  them,  and  draw 
conclusions  from  them  ?  The  amount  of  truth  that  shall 
come  into  the  possession  of  the  mind  depends  on  the  way 
in  which  facts  are  associated  with  each  other  when  they 
are  first  learned  and  whenever  they  are  recalled.  It  is  the 
vast  consequences  in  the  way  of  true  and  vigorous  think- 
ing and  larger  grasp  that  follow  upon  careful  and  correct 
association  of  facts  with  each  other,  that  have  the  deepest 
interest  for  the  student,  and  render  it  worth  his  while  to 
make  the  student's  sacrifice  of  time  and  mental  energy 
to  secure  such  mental  associations. 

How  likely  is  it  that  the  student  will  remember 
that  DeGama  pounded  Cape  of  Good  Hope  in  1497? 
An  independent  traveller  is  quite  likely  to  lose  his  life 
in  the  hidden  crevasses  of  a  glacier,  while  a  group  of 
men  connected  by  a  rope  gives  assurance  of  almost  perfect 
safety  to  every  member.  If  by  accident,  one  should  fall, 
it  is  the  rope  that  brings  him  back.  The  date  of  DeGama's 
feat  is  much  more  likely  to  be  remembered  if  it  is  tied  to 
the  historical  rope  along  with  its  associates. 

Even  if  the  fact  were  remembered  by  itself,  what 
would  be  the  good  of  it?  A  student  of  my  acquaintance 


132  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

once  crammed  for  an  examination  and  actually  remem- 
bered by  sheer  force  the  date  of  the  rounding  of  the  Cape. 
But  when  asked  to  explain  the  historical  significance 
of  the  act,  he  failed  utterly.  The  fact  was  worthless 
to  him.  How  much  it  would  have  meant  to  his  thinking 
power,  if  he  had  been  aware  that  it  was  the  successful  ter- 
mination of  a  long  series  of  strenuous  efforts  to  find  a 
southeast  passage  to  India,  that  it  was  the  climax  of  a 
long  drama  of  maritime  enterprise  which  included  inci- 
dentally the  discovery  of  the  Madeira  and  the  Canary  Isl- 
ands, Cape  Verde  and  the  Coast  of  Guinea.  If  his  mind 
could  have  followed  the  successive  expeditions  as  each 
in  its  turn  pressed  farther  into  the  unknown  South,  if 
he  had  been  impressed  with  the  fact  that  all  this  enter- 
prise had  been  inspired  by  the  desire  to  improve  the 
commercial  relations  with  India,  he  would  have  placed 
the  bald  and  lonesome  fact  in  its  natural  setting,  associ- 
ated it  with  its  own  context.  And  facts  in  their  proper 
setting  are  as  eloquent  as  the  words  in  an  epic ;  by  them- 
selves they  are  as  dull  as  the  same  words  in  a  dictionary. 
Forty  tons  of  chain  links  are  worth  no  more  than  any 
other  old  iron  unless  they  are  interlinked.  The  same  is 
true  of  historical  or  any  other  facts. 

Those  who  know  most  are  best  fitted  to  learn, 
chiefly  because  they  have  a  large  body  of  varied  and  well 
organized  knowledge  with  which  to  connect  each  new 
fact.  It  finds  itself  at  home  at  once  in  a  vast  array  of 
closely  related  facts.  Associations  are  easily  formed  for 
it.  It  strikes  the  mind  at  once  as  an  individual  member 


ASSOCIATION:    PRACTICAL  APPLICATIONS      133 

of  an  already  well-known  group,  as  a  missing  link  in  an 
otherwise  complete  chain  of  facts,  as  the  effect  of  a  known 
cause,  or  as  the  cause  of  a  known  effect,  or  as  a  long 
sought  item  of  knowledge  that  completes  the  information 
on  the  subject  to  which  it  belongs. 

But  the  student  does  not  need  to  know  much  before 
he  begins  to  exercise  his  powers  of  association.  To  him 
that  hath  shall  be  given.  It  is  to  the  first  crude  efforts 
that  perfect  skill  owes  its  greatest  debt.  Deliberate 
choice  of  associations  for  each  new  fact,  after  careful 
consideration  of  its  natural  relationships,  is  what,  in  the 
long  course  of  time,  makes  the  powerful  thinker  and  the 
strong;  reliable  memory. 


134  THE   ART   OF   STUDY 


CHAPTER 

CLASSIFICATION. 

In  the  last  few  chapters  stress  has  been  laid  on  the 
part  played  by  the  principle  of  the  association  of  ideas 
in  all  our  thinking;  and  the  importance  of  giving  it 
deliberate  attention  in  the  training  of  one's  own  mental 
powers  has  been  duly  emphasized.  To  make  the  matter 
more  impressive,  let  us  consider  the  reason  why  the  stu- 
dent learns  things  so  rapidly  which  the  world  was  so  long 
in  learning.  In  a  few  weeks  he  can  get  a  tolerably  good 
outline  knowledge  of  a  subject  of  which  whole  ages  of  the 
world  remained  entirely  ignorant. 

Take  as  an  example  Grimm's  law  of  the  shifting 
of  consonants  only  so  far  as  it  concerns  the  relation  of  the 
English  and  German  languages.  It  seems  perfectly  easy 
for  the  student  to  see  that  where  English  has  th,  German 
has  d,  as  in  this,  dies;  thumb,  Daume;  thick,  dick;  that 
English  v  and  d  are  displaced  by  German  b  and  t,  as  in 
dove,  Taube;  love,  Liebe;  shove,  shieben;  middle,  mittel; 
widow,  Wittwe.  In  a  few  days  the  ordinary  student  can 
develop  an  elementary  knowledge  of  this  principle  of  the 
shifting  of  consonants  into  a  powerful  intellectual  weapon 
in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  and  into  a  means  of  deeper 
insight  into  the  relationship  of  the  two  languages  than 


CLASSIFICATION  135 

he  could  have  dreamed  of  having  before  he  became  aware 
of  the  principle. 

Why  did  the  world  have  to  wait  until  the  nineteenth 
century  for  Grimm  to  make  a  scientific  statement  of  the 
law  that  governs  consonantal  changes  in  the  Indo-Euro- 
pean languages  when  a  common  student  can  get  a  toler- 
ably fair  grasp  of  the  subject  in  so  short  a  time  ?  There 
had  surely  been  enough  linguistic  scholars  in  the  world 
before  his  time,  and  they  had  done  their  best  to  be  real 
scholars.  Why  was  the  world's  penetrative  power  so  ob- 
tuse compared  with  the  insight  of  a  beginner  in  the  study 
of  language? 

The  answer  is  easy ;  and  the  surest  way  for  anyone  to 
avoid  intellectual  self-conceit  is  to  remember  that  answer 
carefully  and  all  the  time.  In  every  subject  that  the 
student  studies,  from  Grimm's  law  to  Geology,  the  in- 
formation is  carefully  classified  for  him  in  advance.  The 
hard  work  is  all  done.  The  world  was  slow  in  doing  it, 
but  it  did  better  than  any  individual  ever  did.  After 
Grimm  and  his  predecessors  have  dug  out  the  facts 
that  are  scattered  everywhere  at  random  in  the  languages 
concerned;  after  the  facts  that  are  alike  have  all  been 
placed  side  by  side,  and  the  general  truth  that  they  then 
reveal  has  been  stated  clearly,  it  is  an  easy  matter  to  com- 
prehend and  apply  the  principle ;  and  that  is  all  the  stu- 
dent does. 

In  systematic  botany  it  is  infinitely  easier  to  classify 
plants  with  the  help  of  the  "key"  than  it  was  to  make 
the  key  from  a  study  of  the  plants.  It  required  many 


136  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

generations  of  able  botanists  to  carry  on  the  collection 
and  comparison  of  plants  before  a  natural  classification 
was  worked  out,  in  which  all  the  plants  that  really  be- 
longed together  were  put  in  the  same  groups.  We  would 
be  less  inclined  to  sneer  at  the  stupidity  of  former  times, 
if  we  al\v;iy<  realized  how  infinitely  difficult  it  is  to  under- 
stand or  even  be  aware  of  the  existence  of  any  subject 
before  the  facts  relating  to  it  have  been  associated  under 
the  principle  of  similarity. 

When  a  little  child  puts  all  its  yellow  flowers  in  one 
hand  and  its  blue  ones  in  the  other,  it  has  accomplished 
an  act  of  classification.  A  single  statement,  a  definition, 
can  now  be  made  that  will  cover  all  the  flowers  in  each 
hand.  The  child  may  do  no  more  than  hold  one  of  the 
bunches  up  to  its  mother  and  say  "blue";  but  it  has 
done  a  complete  act  of  classification.  It  has  separated  the 
unlike,  put  together  the  like,  and  made  a  statement  that 
applies  to  everything  that  is  included  in  one  of  the  groups. 

Every  common  name  in  the  language  implies  classi- 
fication. Building  is  a  general  name  for  a  large  variety 
of  structures,  but  they  all  have  the  same  name  because 
they  have  certain  qualities  in  common,  and  on  those  com- 
mon qualities  the  definition  of  the  group  is  based.  Walls 
and  a  roof  make  a  building.  Under  this  broad  definition, 
smaller  groups  can  be  made.  House  and  barn  constitute 
two  distinct  sub-groups  of  buildings  and  the  definition 
of  each  is  based  on  the  use  the  building  is  put  to.  Every 
time  an  adjective  is  added  to  a  common  noun,  a  new 
group  is  made.  There  will  be  fewer  objects  in  the  group, 


CLASSIFICATION  137 

but  there  will  be  more  facts  about  the  group  in  the 
definition  of  it.  House  includes  many  more  objects  than 
smoke-house.  But  the  definition  of  the  latter  deals  with 
more  facts.  Not  only  must  the  walls  and  roof  be  men- 
tioned, the  word  smoke  introduces  all  the  characteristic 
elements  of  that  kind  of  a  house :  ham,  sausage,  dry  punk- 
wood  that  will  make  a  smoke,  the  thick  odor  of  the  three 
combined,  the  dark  inner  walls,  are  all  associations  intro- 
duced by  the  word  smoke,  and  they  furnish  suggestions 
for  the  larger  definition. 

Now,  if  a  student  has  presented  to  him  a  carefully 
classified  group  of  facts  a  little  reflection  will  bring  out 
the  general  truths.  If  some  friendly  hand  lays  before 
him  the  fruits  and  flowers  of  many  plants  to  "stud/'  and 
places  in  one  group  the  fruits  and  flowers  of  the  huckle- 
berry, blueberry,  cranberry,  heath,  American  laurel,  trail- 
ing arbutus,  wintergreen,  swamp  pink,  and  Indian  pipe,  he 
can  easily, if  he  keeps  his  thoughts  fixed  on  the  similarities, 
make  a  tolerably  good  definition  of  the  family  of  heath- 
worts,  in  spite  of  their  great  differences.  Or  if  he  is  fur- 
nished with  a  badly  jumbled  heap  of  fruits  and  flowers, 
and  with  it,  good  definitions  of  the  families  to  which  they 
belong,  he  can,  with  the  help  of  those  definitions,  easily 
sort  the  pile  into  separate  families  of  plants. 

If  he  is  furnished  with  a  good  list  of  examples,  thus : 
dum/i)  dick,  Daume,  drei,  du,  dein,  Donner, 
thin,  thick,  thumb,  three,  thou,  thine,  thunder, 
he  can  be  easily  led  to  draw  a  general  statement  from  the 
facts  and  make  at  least  a  beginning  of  the  rule  that  gov- 


13S  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

eras  consonantal  differences  between  English  and  Ger- 
man. Or  if  he  is  furnished  with  the  general  statement 
that  under  certain  conditions  wherever  initial  d  occurs 
in  German  it  is  represented  by  th  in  English,  he  can  make 
the  list  himself;  for  with  the  general  rule  in  his  posses- 
sion he  can  easily  pick  the  illustrations  of  the  rule  out  of 
any  printed  page,  no  matter  how  widely  scattered  they 
may  be. 

But  that  is  not  the  way  the  world's  knowledge  grew; 
it  is  only  a  device  to  make  rapid  accumulation  of  knowl- 
edge possible  for  the  student  and  prepare  him  for  the  real 
task. 

The  end  sought  in  classification  is  order,  the  reduction 
of  a  vast  number  of  things  into  a  few  kinds.     But  at  the 
outset  the  world  had  neither  a  classified  group  of  facts 
from  which  to  draw  up  general  truths,  nor  the  general 
truths  by  the  help  of  which  to  reduce  the  facts  to  groups. 
It  was  a  clear  case  of  not  even  knowing  whether  there 
was  anything  to  know.    The  facts  of  the  universe  are  for 
the  most  part  badly  mixed.    If  nature  is  at  times  inclined 
to  write  in  a  legible  hand  she  is  likely,  a  little  later, 
to  write  something  entirely  different  the  other  way  across 
the  page.     Humanity  is  obliged  to  gather  painfully  the 
facts  that  nature  has  scattered  and  reduce  them  to  the 
only  order  in  which  they  can  be  reasoned  about.     But 
usually  the  facts  are  so  widely  scattered  that  their  rela- 
tionship to  each  other  is  not  likely  to  be  recognized  at 
all.     It  was  only  after  the  world  became  profoundly  im- 
pressed with  the  truth  that  all  things  are  effects  of  some 


CLASSIFICATION  139 

cause,  that  all  things  can  be  grouped  and  described  by 
general  statements,  that  the  human  mind  developed  the 
habit  of  studying  facts. 

When  a  beginning  has  once  been  made,  no  matter 
how  small  or  crude  it  is,  progress  becomes  more  rapid 
and  steady  until  it  seems  as  if  nothing  could  any  longer 
resist  explanation.  But  somehow  and  from  somewhere 
must  come  the  suggestion  that  certain  things  belong  to- 
gether. Three  things  can  be  arranged  in  six  different 
ways,  four  can  be  arranged  in  twenty-four  ways ;  the  seven 
days  of  the  week  can  be  arranged  in  5040  different  ways, 
and  the  twenty-four  letters  of  the  alphabet  can  be  ar- 
ranged in  620,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000  different 
ways.  And  until  that  first,  fateful  suggestion  comes  to 
serve  as  a  starting  point,  there  is  never  likely  to  be  any- 
thing but  a  hopeless  jumble  of  facts,  there  is  no  reason 
for  trying  to  arrange  them  in  one  way  rather  than  in  any 
other. 

But  while  we  may  not  be  able  to  tell  why  the  alpha- 
bet is  arranged  in  the  order  in  which  we  learn  it  and  use 
it  in  vocabularies  we  constantly  act  upon  a  tacit  universal 
agreement  to  have  it  so.  For  us  this  particular  arrange- 
ment of  the  alphabet  is  not  a  matter  of  science  but  pure 
habit.  We  are  all  obliged  to  conform  to  this  established 
habit ;  for  any  one  who  did  not  conform  to  this  particular 
arrangement  of  the  alphabet  would  lose  all  intellectual 
contact  with  his  fellow-men.  The  alphabet  itself  could  be 
arranged  in  several  other  ways,  each  of  which  would  have  a 
usefulness  of  its  own.  The  usual  arrangement  teaches 


140  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

us  nothing  at  all;  but  its  universal  use  is  what  makes  it 
possible  for  us  all  to  use  the  same  dictionaries,  in  short, 
for  us  all  to  work  in  harmony. 

It  would  seem  then  that  one  of  the  most  worthless 
ways  to  arrange  a  large  number  of  words  or  names  would 
be  the  present  alphabetical  order,  if  it  were  desired  to  do 
any  reasoning  about  the  facts  after  they  were  thus  ar- 
ranged. Apparently  the  only  useful  purpose  that  the 
alphabetical  arrangement  of  words  and  names  can  possibly 
serve  is  to  make  it  easy  to  find  any  given  word,  or 
name,  or  fact.  The  value  of  this  arrangement  must  not 
be  belittled.  Only  a  small  proportion  of  students  realize 
the  power  which  good  indexes  of  all  kinds  place  in  their 
hands,  if  they  will  only  use  them  freely  for  the  purpose  of 
gathering  together  the  facts.  Only  the  small  minority 
ever  learn  the  real  value  of  an  index  in  the  prosecution 
of  their  studies. 

But  an  alphabetical  arrangement  of  words  does  teach 
a  good  many  things  that  are  not  considered  at  all  when 
the  arrangement  is  made.  The  truth  is  that  it  would 
probably  be  impossible  to  arrange  any  set  of  facts  in  any 
kind  of  orderly  way  without  discovering  afterwards  that 
it  reveals  truths  that  were  entirely  unlooked  for.  Al- 
though we  know  of  no  good  reason,  apart  from  habit,  why 
we  should  arrange  the  letters  of  the  alphabet  in  the  usual 
order,  the  matter  takes  an  entirely  different  aspect  when 
we  come  to  group  together  all  the  words  beginning  with 
a  given  letter.  We  place  closest  together  the  words  that 
are  nearest  alike  in  spelling,  beginning  with  the  initial 


CLASSIFICATION  141 

letter,  and  following  the  same  principle  for  each  letter  in 
each  word.  The  result  is  that  a  good  many  "natural 
groups"  of  words  are  formed  and  wholly  incidentally  the 
material  is  put  in  good  shape  to  teach  some  general  truth. 
If  one  is  sufficiently  alert  to  look  for  such  groups, 
it  is  easy  to  notice  that  whole  pages  of  a  dictionary  are 
taken  up  with  words  beginning  with  the  single  prefix  in; 
but  that  there  are  very  few  words  with  the  prefix  in  whose 
stems  begin  with  b,  I,  m,  p ,  or  r.  A  study  of  the  words 
as  they  are  grouped  will  reveal  the  fact  that  in  is  the 
original  form  of  the  prefix  and  that  it  comes  from  two 
sources,  the  Anglo-Saxon,  and  the  Latin,  bringing  with 
it  special  meanings  from  each  source ;  that  before  I  the  in 
becomes  t'Z,  before  r  it  becomes  tr,  and  before  &,  ra,  and 
p,  it  becomes  im.  A  study  of  theee  facts  in  turn  will 
lead  to  reflection  upon  the  assimilation  of  one  letter  to 
the  sound  of  another,  so  that  the  organs  of  speech  may 
have  no  difficulty  in  pronouncing  them. 

This  example  seems  almost  too  dry  and  simple  to 
mention,  but  it  is  not  so  dry  and  simple  as  it  looks.  Given 
a  mind  that  is  awake,  every  little  point  like  this  may 
become  the  origin  of  a  whole  new  field  of  knowledge. 

Suppose,  on  the  other  hand,  a  student  is  puzzled  to 
know  why  get  is  pronounced  with  a  hard  g  and  gem  with 
a  soft  g.  It  is  an  anomaly  and  a  sore  puzzle  only  until 
he  thinks  it  worth  while  to  consider  the  matter  from  a 
general  point  of  view.  The  "reason  why"  of  such  a 
thing  must  be  brought  under  a  rule;  and  a  rule  can  be 
drawn  only  from  a  classified  list  of  words.  The  easiest 


142  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

thing  to  do  is  to  go  to  a  dictionary  and  grasp  the  whole 
subject  vigorously  instead  of  dabbling  merely  with  get 
and  gem.  Even  in  a  common  academic  dictionary  it  is 
no  task  to  see  that  the  initial  g  is  soft  before  e  in  the 
words  of  Latin  origin  and  hard  in  those  of  Germanic 
origin. 

Of  course,  it  may  not  always  be  the  wisest  way  to 
search  out  a  particular  piece  of  information.  Many 
of  the  "rules"  that  a  student  could  extract  from  an 
Llphabetical  arrangement  of  words  were  recognized  and 
carefully  written  long  before  he  was  born.  The  point 
I  wish  to  make  is  that  any  classification  that  is  valuable 
in  a  single  respect,  is  likely  to  furnish  the  observant  mind 
with  new  and  unexpected  information  that  was  wholly 
unanticipated  when  the  classification  was  made.  It  re- 
quires close  attention  to  exEaust  the  information  that 
any  classification  of  facts  can  suggest. 

A  city  directory  is  only  a  convenient  means  of  find- 
ing names  and  addresses.  But  it  can  teach  a  good  many 
important  truths  about  the  city  it  represents.  Certain 
kinds  of  names  are  characteristic  of  certain  races  of  men. 
The  number  of  O'Briens,  O'Haras  and  McCartys,  of 
Schmidt  and  Schneider  and  of  Goldstein  can  be  made 
to  indicate  roughly  the  proportion  of  Irishmen,  Germans, 
German  Jews,  etc.,  to  the  whole  population.  A  moder- 
ate amount  of  attention  to  the  streets  on  which  these 
ponple  live  will  enable  one  to  locate  the  colonies  of  Irish- 
men, Germans,  Russians,  on  the  accompanying  map.  In 
the  same  way  the  businesss  directory  easily  reveals  the 


CLASSIFICATION  143 

location  of  the  wholesale  district,  the  foundries,  "news- 
paper row,"  and  all  the  other  businesses  that  tend  to 
congregate  in  sections. 

Let  us  suppose  just  as  useless  a  classification  as  one 
could  well  imagine.  Suppose  that  some  one,  in  1948, 
should  arrange  in  alphabetical  order  the  names  of  all 
the  men  in  the  civilized  world,  using  the  Christian  name 
instead  of  the  surname  as  the  basis  of  classification  and 
giving  their  age  and  nativity.  Would  it  teach  anything 
at  all?  He  would  probably  find  a  considerable  number 
of  men  whose  names  would  be  bunched  together  because 

their  Christian  names  were  all  "George  Dewey ." 

He  would  find  them  all  about  fifty  years  old  and  all  of 
American  origin,  with  never  a  Spaniard  among  them. 
The  facts  would  be  ready  for  an  inference;  and  it  would 
probably  be  that  some  George  Dewey  had  made  an  impres- 
sion on  the  American  world,  that  numerous  baby  boys 
had  been  named  after  him,  and  that  the  Spaniards  felt 
no  friendly  interest  in  him. 

But  while  it  has  been  shown  that  any  classification, 
even  one  most  unlikely  to  be  useful  for  scientific  purposes, 
often  reveals  important  and  interesting  truths,  it  must 
not  be  inferred  that  classification  is  an  infallible  magi- 
cian's wand  by  means  of  which  to  bring  order  out  of  chaos 
at  once  and  to  discover  truth.  Arranging  objects  in  any 
one  of  the  numberless  possible  ways  merely  to  see  if  that 
arrangement  will  reveal  some  truth  is  likely  to  be  useful 
only  for  the  purpose  of  killing  time.  It  has  been  already 
shown  that  it  is  impossible  to  group  objects  in  all  the 


144  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

conceivable  arrangements.  The  motive  for  making  a 
classification  of  any  kind  is  usually  some  similarity  among 
objects  that  has  been  spontaneously  recognized.  When 
once  a  few  objects  are  recognized  to  be  alike  in  any  re- 
spect, this  similarity  furnishes  the  basis  for  the  first  rude 
attempts  at  classification. 

Take  the  earliest  written  classification  of  animals — 
from  the  book  of  Genesis.  It  recognizes  as  groups,  the 
birds  of  the  air,  the  beasts  of  the  field,  the  creeping 
things  on  the  earth,  and  the  fishes  in  the  sea.  This  classi- 
fication is  immemorial  because  it  is  inevitable,  and  it  will 
always  remain  a  popular  classification  for  the  same  rea- 
son. The  first  classifications  of  any  objects  will  be  based 
on  the  most  obvious  and  striking  characters.  Birds  are  so 
very  much  alike  and  so  different  from  all  other  animals 
that  the  group  is  bound  to  be  recognized.  Now  in  the 
popular  mind  the  most  striking  character  of  birds  is  the 
power  of  flight.  But  as  soon  as  a  systematic  effort  is 
made  to  classify  birds  with  the  power  of  flight  as  the 
basis  of  arrangement,  a  multitude  of  difficulties  arise. 
There  are  birds  that  can  hardly  walk  or  fly,  but  can  swim 
well ;  there  are  others  that  can  run  but  can  neither  swim 
nor  fly;  and  bats  can  fly  as  well  as  birds.  So  that  while 
the  most  obvious  character  may  serve  for  ordinary  pur- 
poses of  classification,  it  may  fail  utterly  if  put  to  a  rigrid 
It  will  not  fit  some  of  the  animals  that  certainly 
belong  in  the  group,  and  includes  animals  that  just  as 
certainly  do  not  belong  there. 

The  great  importance  of  classification  arises  from  the 


CLASSIFICATION  145 

fact  that  a  series  of  objects  that  have  some  one  character 
in  common  are  very  likely  to  be  alike  also  in  many  other 
respects.  Common  sense  would  immediately  save  its 
definition  of  birds  by  adding  other  important  characters 
that  always  seem  to  be  found  in  combination,  and  which 
together  make  birds  what  they  are.  It  can  easily  make 
a  much  better  definition  of  a  bird  by  calling  it  a  tooth- 
less, feathered,  egg-laying  biped  with  front  limbs  modified 
for  flight.  Such  a  definition  marks  a  decided  advance. 
All  living  birds  will  answer  to  some  at  least  of  the  char- 
acters. Bats  are  easily  shut  out,  and  so  are  the  lowest 
mammals,  the  egg-laying  monotremes. 

It  appears,  therefore,  that  a  classification  is  likely 
to  be  natural  and  complete  in  proportion  to  the  number 
and  importance  of  the  characters  that  can  be  used  in 
framing  it.  But  the  process  of  reaching  such  perfection 
is  painfully  slow  and  devious.  How  shall  it  be  known  in 
advance  what  characters  always  occur  together,  and  which 
are  the  most  important?  An  animal's  mode  of  locomo- 
tion may  be  very  important  for  its  personal  purposes ;  but 
it  may  be  only  a  stumbling  block  to  one  trying  to  classify 
birds  accurately.  The  only  thing  that  can  be  done  is  to 
make  a  classification  of  birds  on  the  basis  of  such  simi- 
larities as  are  readily  recognized.  Careful  study  is  bound 
to  reveal  other  characters  associated  with  those  already 
known,  for  example,  that  a  bird's  aorta  turns  to  the 
right,  while  a  mammal's  turns  to  the  left. 

But,  as  accurate  knowledge  slowly  increases,  even  the 
best  of  classifications  and  the  definitions  based  on  them 


14«  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

seem  to  break  down.  It  was  discovered  during  the  past 
century  that  in  ancient  geological  times  there  were  birds 
with  long  tails  and  serried  rows  of  dangerous-looking 
teeth.  The  increase  of  knowledge  finally  led  to  an  en- 
tirely different  view  of  birds.  They  are  now  known  to  be 
closely  related  to  the  reptiles  and  are  placed  side  by  side 
with  them  in  the  group  Sauropsida.  This  group  is  based 
on  the  characters  which  birds  and  reptiles  have  in  com- 
mon. The  two  groups  are  distinguished  from  each  other 
in  a  far  more  painstaking  way  than  formerly. 

This  breaking  down  of  old  knowledge  does  not  indi- 
cate that  the  method  of  acquiring  it  was  wrong.  It  only 
proves  once  more  that  we  constantly  begin  to  work  with 
the  most  obvious  facts,  and  only  slowly  succeed  in  reach- 
ing a  perfectly  natural  classification  by  penetrating  be- 
hind the  most  striking  appearances. 

Anyone  can  readily  recall  instances  of  how  easy  it  is 
to  be  deceived.  No  boy  who  ever  brushed  his  bare  legs 
against  the  stinging  nettles  would  dream  of  putting  those 
little  enemies  of  his  in  the  same  group  of  plants  with  the 
elms  and  the  hop-vine.  But  while  they  are  so  different 
in  appearance,  close  examination  shows  that  their 
flowers,  fruits  and  leaves,  in  fact  all  the  characters  that 
are  now  regarded  as  important,  prove  them  to  be  very 
much  alike.  In  some  of  the  previous  chapters  it  has  been 
pointed  out  that  careful  scrutiny  is  necessary  to  a  right 
understanding  of  things.  The  spontaneous  associations 
that  we  make  among  things  are  always  based  on  striking, 
easily  observed  facts.  The  power  of  flight  is  impressive, 


CLASSIFICATION  147 

and  greatly  unlike  the  power  to  walk.  To  the  casual  ob- 
server a  tree  is  very  different  from  an  herb  in  appearance. 
But  sometimes  those  striking  appearances  are  utterly  de- 
ceiving to  one  who  is  seeking  the  real  relationships  of 
plants  to  one  another. 

There  is  no  mechanical  way  in  which  the  best  char- 
acter can  be  chosen  at  the  outset  for  purposes  of  classi- 
fication. We  start,  of  necessity,  with  that  which  is  plain- 
est, most  evident  to  us  at  the  time.  The  first  steps  in 
any  effort  at  classification  are  tolerably  sure  to  prove 
themselves  artificial  with  the  later  growth  of  knowledge. 
But  it  is  only  by  trying  on  any  given  character,  just  as 
we  try  on  clothes,  that  we  can  be  sure  that  we  are  on  the 
right  track. 

The  process  of  classification  looks  easy ;  but  even  the 
slow  progress  that  the  world  has  made  in  the  various  de- 
partments of  organized  knowledge  has  taxed  to  the  ut- 
most the  sagacity  of  the  best-trained  men.  And  the  end 
is  not  yet.  Each  generation  has  improved  somewhat  the 
classification  of  plants,  until  now  botanists  feel  that  they 
have  a  natural  arrangement ;  but  there  is  still  a  great  deal 
to  be  cleared  up. 

In  casual  thought  we  constantly  pitch  upon  appear- 
ances as  a  basis  of  comparison.  Law  may  still  treat  the 
whale  as  a  fish,  but  science  insists  that  it  is  much  more 
closely  related  to  the  mouse.  "Common  sense"  would  say 
that  the  nettle  and  some  of  the  other  common  weeds  are 
fairly  close  together,  but  science  says  the  nettle  and  the 
elm  are  relatives.  A  novice  would  quite  likely  begin  his 


148  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

work  by  using  the  horns  of  certain  animals  as  a  basis  of 
classification,  and  in  a  little  while  he  would  discover  that 
the  character  he  has  chosen  is  utterly  worthless,  because 
the  presence  of  horns  would  put  the  male  of  the  deer 
and  sheep  in  one  group  and  the  females  of  the  same 
species  in  another.  Horns  can,  of  course,  be  used  as  a 
basis  of  classification,  but  when  the  groups  are  made,  they 
are  practically  worthless;  they  do  not  teach  much  truth. 

The  direction  of  progress  in  making  a  perfect  classifi- 
cation of  any  set  of  objects,  is  toward  discovering  charac- 
ters that  will  reveal  the  true  relationships  of  the  facts. 
If  one  such  character  is  once  secured,  for  example,  feath- 
ers as  a  distinguishing  character  for  birds,  and  all  animals 
possessing  that  character  are  grouped  together,  it  will  in- 
variably be  found  that  other  very  important  characters 
are  associated  with  it.  Feathers  mean  egg-layers  and  the 
presence  of  front  wings  modified  for  flight,  and  an  aortic 
arch  that  turns  to  the  right.  As  soon  as  such  a  correla- 
tion of  different  characters  is  well  established  the  group 
must  be  recognized  as  a  natural  one. 

When  the  mind  once  habitually  associates  such  a 
group  of  natural  characters  together,  it  uses  it  as  a  means 
of  discovery.  We  feel  sure  that  those  things  will  always 
be  found  together.  Every  feathered  creature  is  assumed 
to  be  an  egg-layer  with  a  right  aortic  arch.  A  good 
zoologist  can  tell  from  a  single  tooth  what  kind  of  an 
animal  carried  it  around  in  its  mouth;  because  a  given 
kind  of  tooth  is  associated  with  certain  other  bodily  struct- 
ures and  physical  habits.  This  lends  a  marvelous  power 
to  our  thought.  It  furnishes  the  basis  for  inference. 


CLASSIFICATION  149 

But  the  fancied  security  of  a  natural  classification 
may  receive  a  rude  shock  at  any  time.  In  the  course  of 
time,  up  from  the  dim  past  looms  the  bird  with  teeth  and 
long  tail.  It  would  seem  as  if  the  whole  classification  of 
birds  would  be  shattered  and  that  confidence  would  be 
displaced  by  discouragement. 

But  instead  of  being  a  cause  for  despair,  such  ap- 
parent break-downs  of  old  systems  and  old  definitions,  are 
only  the  beginning  of  broader  views,  deeper  insight,  and 
the  opportunity  for  a  still  better  expression  of  all  the 
facts.  The  presence  of  teeth,  a  well-developed  tail  and 
other  antique  characters  in  fossil  birds  serves  to  show 
still  more  closely  the  connection  between  modern  birds 
and  reptiles  than  the  living  structures  do.  It  is  true  that 
the  ancient  birds  are  very  different  from  the  modern  but 
those  differences  all  point  in  the  same  direction.  They 
teach  a  great  new  truth;  they  enlarge  the  intellectual 
vision ;  what  seems  to  some  like  nothing  but  a  rude  shock 
to  the  stability  of  our  knowledge  seems  to  others  like  a 
new  revelation.  It  opens  up  new  intellectual  views,  as 
lifting  the  eyes  from  the  ground  to  the  horizon  makes  a 
new  world  for  the  observer.  It  must  be  remembered  that 
classification  is  only  a  tool,  that  truth  is  the  end  sought ; 
and  that  in  the  very  act  of  overthrowing  an  old  classifica- 
tion, the  mind  may  be  taking  a  long  stride  nearer  the 
truth. 

The  importance  of  the  general  subject  of  the  associa- 
tion of  ideas  and  its  technical  expression  in  the  process  of 
classification  cannot  be  sufficiently  emphasized  in  a  chap- 


160  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

ter.  It  will  be  found  to  be  really  the  burden  of  the  next 
chapter,  on  Memory,  as  well  as  most  of  the  others.  It 
lies  at  the  very  root  of  intellectual  power.  The  mere 
reading  of  a  chapter  or  two  on  the  subject  cannot  take 
the  place  of  constant  attention  to  the  process  in  the  stu- 
dent's daily  work.  It  is  not  merely  dealing  with  facts, 
but  the  way  in  which  he  deals  with  them,  that  is  the  test 
of  the  student's  training.  This  process  of  association  and 
classification  of  facts  by  means  of  which  truth  is  brought 
to  the  surface  cannot  be  too  closely  attended  to,  or  too 
assiduously  cultivated. 


MEMORY  151 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MEMORY. 

Of  all  the  intellectual  powers,  memory  is  most  sus- 
ceptible to  the  treatment  of  quacks,  and  has  suffered 
most  from  devices  for  its  improvement.  The  wonder 
about  memory  is,  not  that  it  fails  to  retain  so  much,  but 
that  it  succeeds  in  retaining  so  much  of  the  countless 
thousands  of  mental  experiences  that  the  life  passes 
through  in  the  course  of  years. 

The  emphasis  that  has  been  laid  upon  memory  in  the 
training  of  the  mind  has  not  been  misplaced.  The  great 
defects  of  memory  cannot  be  minimized.  But  most  of 
the  devices  for  its  improvement  have  led  to  no  permanent 
good  results,  because,  like  quack  medicines,  they  deal 
mostly  with  the  symptoms  and  fail  entirely  to  touch  the 
constitutional  traits  to  which  the  defects  are  due.  The 
flaws  of  memory  are  no  worse  than  the  flaws  of  reasoning. 
Most  of  our  common,  unstudied  reasoning  is  false.  But 
we  remain  for  the  most  part  blissfully  unaware  of  its  fatal 
defects.  We  make  mistakes  but  do  not  realize  them  im- 
mediately. There  is  no  shock,  because  the  effect  of  our 
false  reasoning  is  delayed.  We  make  mistakes  and  avoid 
them  next  time.  But  when  memory  fails  on  a  particular 
point  it  is  a  simple,  striking  fact.  We  realize  the  effect 
of  the  failure  fully  because  we  realize  it  immediately. 


152  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

There  is  probably  no  direct  cure  for  the  defects  of 
memory.  Just  as  a  good  physician,  in  treating  many 
wasting  diseases,  finds  it  necessary  to  let  the  symptoms 
take  care  of  themselves  while  he  carefully  builds  up  the 
general  physical  constitution  in  order  to  develop  power 
to  resist  and  throw  off  disease;  so  in  the  treatment  of 
memory,  the  real  question  is  not  merely  one  of  sheer  cling- 
ing to  facts  after  they  have  been  once  secured,  but  it  is 
a  question  of  the  way  in  which  the  knowledge  is  first  pre- 
sented to  the  mind. 

The  careless  human  mind  is  engrossed  only  with  the 
present;  it  has  neither  far-reaching  mental  vision  into 
the  future  nor  apparently  any  certain  means  of  penetrat- 
ing again  the  rapidly  growing  twilight  of  the  past.  The 
spirit  of  civilization  might  be  defined  as  the  inspiration 
to  gaze  steadily  into  the  future  and  provide  for  it.  It  is 
only  with  the  growth  of  civilization  that  steady  anticipa- 
tion takes  the  place  of  prophecy.  And  all  this  peering 
into  the  future  with  more  or  less  success  is  the  outcome 
of  remembering  past  experiences  and  using  them  as  a 
basis  for  our  judgments. 

Neither  forward-looking  nor  backward-looking  by  it- 
self is  of  any  substantial  value.  The  mind  that  is  con- 
stantly looking  into  and  picturing  the  future  without  test- 
ing those  images  of  the  fancy  by  the  images  of  the  mem- 
ory is  sure  to  be  a  mind  littered  with  day-dreams.  The 
thinking  has  no  effect  upon  and  no  relation  to  the  pass- 
ing life.  Vain  imaginings,  beatific  visions,  the  wild  hope- 
fulness aroused  by  the  uncontrolled  mental  imagery  are 
always  shattered  by  the  dull  thuds  of  cold  experience. 


MEMORY  153 

The  mind  that  spends  its  time  and  energy  recalling 
the  past  likewise  leaves  the  practical  life  unguided.  The 
present  life  is  apparently  only  an  uninteresting  by-play 
of  the  outer  world ;  it  is  moved  along  and  buffeted  by  cir- 
cumstances; while  the  mind  broods  upon  the  past  and 
bewails  the  fact  that  it  is  only  a  memory.  It  draws 
neither  inspiration  nor  lessons  from  it,  but  merely  dwells 
upon  it. 

The  competent  mind,  the  mind  that  helps  to  mold 
and  control  the  individual's  present  existence,  foresees  the 
probable  events  of  the  future  and  provides  for  them.  And 
it  draws  upon  experience — memory — for  the  materials 
upon  which  to  base  its  judgments  and  its  acts.  It  taxes 
what  is  known  in  order  to  enable  it  to  forecast  what  is  yet 
unknown.  It  is  perhaps  safe  to  say  that  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal reasons  why  so  very  small  a  proportion  of  human 
minds  are  in  any  sense  competent  to  deal  with  new  prob- 
lems, new  conditions,  hitherto  unexperienced  circum- 
stances, is  because  the  vast  majority  of  men  fail  to  use 
the  past  in  trying  to  understand  the  future,  fail  to  make 
what  is  already  known  explain  the  unknown  that  is  under 
immediate  consideration. 

Every  teacher  daily  wears  away  the  force  of  his  life 
trying  to  make  his  pupils  understand  the  problem  under 
consideration  by  means  of  what  they  have  learned  before. 
It  is  because  students  do  not  remember  and  apply  to  the 
new  case,  what  was  learned  about  a  former  one,  that  prog- 
ress is  so  slow,  that  every  new  step  has  to  be  taken  as  if  it 
were  one  into  utter  darkness.  Students  are  constantly 


154  THE   ART   OF   STUDY 

making  translations  from  foreign  languages  into  English 
which  have  no  meaning,  which  are  only  jumbles  of  ill- 
fitting  words ;  and  all  because  they  treat  every  phrase  and 
clause  and  sentence  as  absolutely  independent  of  what 
stands  all  around  it.  It  is  the  past,  what  is  known,  that 
furnishes  the  only  possible  explanation  of  the  future,  of 
the  unknown.  It  is  the  context  that  gives  its  vital  mean- 
ing to  every  word  in  a  sentence,  to  every  sentence  in  a 
paragraph.  The  student  who  "hangs  to  the  story,"  who 
remembers  every  step  that  has  been  taken,  in  order  to  make 
it  help  explain  what  is  coming — or  if  he  has  forgotten  it, 
goes  back  to  recall  it  for  that  purpose — can  always  tell 
when  his  translation  is  correct,  and  never  feels  satisfied 
until  it  is.  What  he  already  knows  makes  him  feel 
sharply  any  error  and  realize  keenly  the  satisfaction  of 
having  harmonized  each  clause  and  sentence  and  phase  of 
thought  with  what  has  gone  before. 

Now,  the  student  wants  memory  to  hold  fast  the 
facts  for  future  effect;  not  to  brood  upon  and  mumble 
over  when  the  teeth  have  begun  to  chatter  and  the  power 
of  thought  is  failing.  With  this  thought  uppermost,  let 
us  consider  the  question  of  memory  a  little  more  in  detail. 

There  are  memory-freaks  that  possess  almost  super- 
human powers.  But  they  are  so  unusual  that  they  have 
no  interest  for  the  present  discussion.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  under  the  general  head  of  memory  are  included  sev- 
eral quite  distinct  ways  in  which  men  seek  to  retain  ex- 
periences that  they  have  once  had.  But  in  a  brief  dis- 
cussion like  this  I  shall  attempt  to  call  attention  to  only 


MEMORY  155 

a  few  important  features  of  the  matter  which  have  a 
direct  bearing  on  the  student's  voluntary  effort  to  remem- 
ber. 

Let  us  take  from  Hiawatha  the  passage  which 
describes  the  young  Indian's  first  hunting  trip  and  make 
note  of  the  different  ways  in  whicli  it  can  be  treated  in  the 
effort  to  learn  it.  Noble  passages  of  poetry,  dates  and 
names  in  history,  the  details  of  any  body  of  knowledge 
slip  away  in  spite  of  strenueus  efforts  to  recall  them.  If 
once  the  method  of  remembering  is  fairly  considered,  the 
problem  of  forgetting  will  take  care  of  itself. 

As  Hiawatha  walked,  his  little  forest  friends  besought 
him  not  to  shoot  them ; 

"But  he  heeded  not  nor  heard  them, 
For  his  thoughts  were  with  the  red  deer; 
On  their  tracks  his  eyes  were  fastened, 
Leading  downward  to  the  river, 
To  the  ford  across  the  river, 
And  as  one  in  slumber  walked  he. 
Hidden  in  the  alder  bushes, 
There  he  waited  till  the  deer  came, 
Till  he  saw  two  antlers  lifted, 
Saw  two  eyes  look  from  the  thicket, 
Saw  two  nostrils  point  to  windward, 
And  a  deer  came  down  the  pathway, 
Flecked  with  leafy  light  and  shadow/' 

The  most  common  way  of  dealing  with  this  passage, 
in  an  effort  to  commit  it  to  memory,  would  be  to  handle 


156  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

it  as  a  mere  succession  of  words.  They  would  be  learned 
so  that  when  one  word  is  remembered  or  spoken,  it  recalls 
the  next  following  word,  and  so  on  through  the  whole 

^e.  There  is  very  commonly  nothing  but  a  mere  as- 
sociation of  words  with  each  other  in  a  certain  order. 
Both  children  and  older  people  habitually,  when  they 
make  a  voluntary  effort  to  commit  a  thing  to  memory, 
learn  and  remember  it  in  this  way.  Each  word  calls  up 
the  next;  and  if  one  word  is  forgotten,  or  worse  still,  if 
several  are  forgotten,  the  memory  has  entirely  lost  its 
hold.  The  only  chain  of  association  is  broken,  and  there 
is  but  little  hope  of  recovering  it  at  all. 

This  is  pure  memorizing,  lip  memorizing,  by  sheer 
force  of  will  and  endless  repetition.  It  is  what  makes 
the  routine  work  of  so  many  studies  the  grinding  curse 
of  childhood,  and  it  is  the  common  method  of  older  stu- 
dents who  have  never  learned  the  art  of  thinking.  It  is 
this  kind  of  learning,  significantly  designated  by  the  ex- 
pression "committing  to  memory,"  that  lends  itself  so 
readily  to  quack  treatment. 

But  it  is  just  as  well  to  raise  the  question  at  once, 
whether  this  kind  of  verbal  memory  can  be  trained  at  all. 
There  is  an  urgent  feeling  that  the  power  of  remembering 
is  improved  by  much  "committing  to  memory."  It  has 
been  often  urged  that  if  a  regular  practice  is  made  of 
memorizing  passages  of  poetry  and  oratory,  important 
historical  and  other  facts,  the  memory  is  improved  by  the 
process.  But  that  is  very  doubtful.  Of  course,  the 
poetry  and  the  facts  will  be  useful.  The  more  one  learns 


MEMORY  157 

thoroughly,  the  more  he  will  remember  in  later  life.  But 
that  is  not  improving  the  power  of  remembering;  it  is 
only  loading  more  things  into  the  memory  to  carry  along. 
It  is  very  doubtful  whether  ten  years  of  steady  effort  at 
mere  verbal  memorizing  would  make  the  memory  any 
more  powerful  to  deal  with  new  facts. 

One  may  commit  to  memory  the  year  1732  as  the 
date  of  Washington's  birth.  By  sheer  force  of  will  it  can 
be  attended  to  so  often  and  so  long  that  it  will  never  be 
forgotten.  In  the  course  of  time  such  a  bit  of  informa- 
tion becomes  a  free  lance  of  the  memory.  It  comes  back 
readily,  and  as  it  were,  at  its  own  sweet  will.  It  is  so  well 
'learned"  that  it  often  breaks  in  upon  the  thought  when 
it  has  no  business  there ;  when  the  mind  is  more  properly 
occupied  with  other  things.  But  no  amount  of  that  kind 
of  memory  work  is  likely  to  improve  one's  ability  to  deal 
with  new  facts. 

A  change  does  take  place  in  the  course  of  time,  so 
that  the  memory,  with  practice,  does  become  more  power- 
ful ;  but  the  change  is  not  due  to  the  mere  force  of  much 
memorizing.  Even  the  most  bungling  kind  of  practice 
makes  the  performer  more  skillful.  But  the  increasing 
skill  is  not  due  to  the  continuation  of  the  bungling.  Im- 
provement in  power  of  any  kind  almost  invariably  means 
a  change  of  method  in  the  way  the  thing  is  done.  In  learn- 
ing to  hoe  potatoes,  improvement  actually  means  apply- 
ing less  muscular  effort  instead  of  more.  Perfect  skill 
merely  means  the  elimination  of  unnecessary  effort  and 
perfect  adaptation  of  every  movement  to  the  work  to  be 


158  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

done.  The  most  skillful  workman  is  never  the  hardest 
worker ;  he  comes  out  at  the  end  of  the  day  not  only  with 
the  most  and  neatest  work  done,  but  with  the  least  back- 
ache. Skill  is  the  substitution  of  reason  in  place  of  brute 
force. 

What  actually  takes  place  when  there  is  any  real  im- 
provement in  the  power  to  remember,  is  a  radical  change 
in  the  method  of  first  acquiring  new  information.  If  once 
the  mind,  instead  of  merely  trying  to  make  certain  words 
hang  together  in  a  certain  order,  concentrates  its  energy 
strongly  on  the  successive  acts  of  the  little  Indian  and  the 
deer,  a  powerful  weapon  is  added  to  the  memory.  If  a 
vivid  mental  pantomime  accompanies  the  effort  to  learn 
the  words,  if  the  learner  clearly  pictures  to  himself  the 
successive  movements  of  the  two,  feels  in  a  measure  what 
the  boy  felt,  appreciates  the  significance  of  the  acts  of 
the  deer,  has  a  strong  sense  that  all  these  successive  acts 
are  parts  of  a  play  that  is  moving  rapidly  toward  a  climax 
sought  by  the  boy  and  feared  by  the  deer,  the  whole 
method  of  learning  has  been  changed.  The  association  is 
no  longer  a  mere  association  of  words  with  one  another  in 
a  certain  order;  but  of  choice  and  powerful  words  with  a 
vivid  mental  picture.  When  memory  is  called  upon  to 
bring  back  the  passage,  it  will  begin  at  once  to  play  on 
these  images  of  the  little  drama;  and  they  are  likely  to 
return  in  their  original  order  because  each  act  in  the 
drama  is  felt  to  be  the  natural  antecedent  of  the  next  one. 
The  words  are  made  vivid  by  association  with  the  vivid 
images,  and  are  readily  recalled  because  of  this  associa- 
tioL. 


MEMORY  159 

When  once  the  mind  dwells  strongly  and  persistently 
on  the  thoughts  expressed,  those  lines  of  Hiawatha  be- 
come a  pleasure  instead  of  a  burden.  When  the  thought 
is  the  burden  of  the  mind  and  the  words  are  only  means 
for  its  expression,  whole  lines  might  be  lost  at  first  in 
reciting;  but  the  thought  can  be  picked  up  again,  and 
then  the  words  come  back  almost  of  their  own  accord. 

This  method  is  no  cure-all;  it  does  not  provide 
against  carelessness  or  guarantee  perfection.  In  fact,  it 
is  possible  to  repeat  the  "substance"  of  the  passage  and 
do  no  injustice  to  the  poetic  imagery,  and  still  not  repeat 
the  words  accurately  at  all.  Mistakes  in  quoting  are  no 
more  justifiable  under  this  method  of  learning  than  under 
any  other;  but  perhaps  the  temptation  to  neglect  perfec- 
tion in  repeating  the  words  exactly  is  increased  by  the  fact 
that  the  "substance  of  the  story"  can  be  so  readily  repro- 
duced. Argument  about  the  matter  is  out  of  place. 
Slovenliness  in  quoting  poetry  or  repeating  facts  can  never 
be  justified  by  one  who  has  his  own  intellectual  welfare  at 
heart.  The  best  method  of  training  the  memory  must 
include  training  in  accuracy  as  well  as  facility. 

The  true  training  of  memory  consists,  not  in  loading 
it  down,  but  in  keeping  it  unloaded  and  increasing  its 
power  to  recall.  And  the  surest  way  to  recall  any  item  of 
knowledge  is  by  means  of  the  associations  which  have  been 
formed  between  it  and  other  facts. 

Little  children  suffer  much  in  learning  the  multipli- 
cation table.  Some  of  that  suffering  is  unavoidable,  for 
no  alleviation  can  be  offered  on  the  score  of  interest  or 


160  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

pleasure  or  beauty.  What  part  of  the  table  is  it  that  the 
child  learns  quickly  and  surely?  Learning  the  fives  is 
always  a  relief,  because  there  is  a  simple  rule  to  remem- 
ber the  succession  by.  In  the  list  of  answers  there  is  first 
a  five  and  then  a  cipher,  constantly  repeated.  The  an- 
swers have  something  in  common ;  they  fall  under  a  sim- 
ple general  rule.  I  have  known  a  little  boy  to  learn  the 
ninos  in  five  minutes,  after  it  was  pointed  out  to  him  that 
at  each  step  the  tens  in  the  answer  increased  by  one  and 
the  units  figure  decreased  by  one. 

I  say  he  'learned"  the  nines  in  five  minutes.  He 
could  not  at  once  give  any  answer  at  random,  without 
thinking;  that  only  came  after  longer  familiarity  with  the 
table.  But  he  was  never  lost;  he  had  within  himself  the 
power  to  reproduce  the  table  of  the  nines  and  find  the  an- 
swer wanted.  He  might  have  to  do  some  thinking  before 
he  could  say  that  7x9=63;  but  he  always  said  it  after  a 
little  consideration.  There  was  a  superb  confidence  in 
the  way  in  which  he  would  set  out  upon  the  task  of  finding 
what  he  wanted.  With  constant  use,  he  began  to  remem- 
ber each  product  by  itself,  without  the  help  of  the  rule ; 
and  now  he  probably  never  stops  to  think  of  it.  But  the 
groat  value  of  the  simple  little  rule  in  first  learning  the 
nines,  lay  in  the  fact  that  by  means  of  it,  all  the  facts 
were  at  once  brought  permanently  into  the  jurisdiction  of 
the  memory,  and  in  such  a  way  that  they  could  not  escape. 
If  they  were  forgotten,  they  could  be  reproduced. 

What  is  true  of  the  multiplication  table  is  true  of 
the  declension  of  nouns  and  of  the  conjugation  of  verbs 


MEMORY  161 

in  a  foreign  language,  or  of  any  other  subject,  in  any 
field  of  the  intellectual  life  upon  which  thought  can  be 
spent.  It  is  temporarily  easier  to  learn  a  conjugation  by 
rote  than  to  learn  the  few  general  rules  by  means  of 
which  the  whole  conjugation  can  be  built  up.  The  latter 
process  requires  much  more  strenuous  thought.  In  build- 
ing up  a  conjugation  from  rules,  a  good  many  things 
have  to  be  thought  about  at  every  step.  It  is  taxing;  it 
requires  mental  effort.  In  memorizing  things  by  rote, 
real  thinking  is  reduced  to  a  minimum.  But  it  is  at  this 
critical  point  that  so  many  students  commit  intellectual 
folly;  they  choose  the  method  that  is  temporarily  easier, 
at  a  sacrifice  of  permanent  power.  He  who  tries  to  learn 
to  swim  by  straddling  a  slab  will  always  be  a  shore-creeper. 
He  never  feels  a  sense  of  personal  power. 

So  with  the  student.  If  he  is  forever  trying  to  re- 
member things  by  the  way  he  saw  them  printed,  he  is 
helpless  and  a  hopeless  slave.  But  when  once  he  grasps 
vigorously  the  general  principles,  he  has  discovered  his 
intellectual  self.  The  spirit  of  mastery  has  come  over 
him.  It  is  ever  afterward  in  his  power  to  reproduce  any 
item  of  knowledge  that  he  needs  or  wishes.  Laws  and 
principles  are  few;  separate  facts  are  innumerable.  By 
prompt  mastery  of  the  former,  the  latter  are  easily  sub- 
dued, memory  is  spared  and  the  mind  made  rich.  The 
great  danger  of  the  scholar  is  inability  to  recover  again 
what  he  has  once  learned.  Rapidity  and  directness  oi 
recall  are  matters  of  comparatively  subordinate  impor' 
tance;  they  are  easily  developed  by  constant  use  of  the 
facts. 


182  THE   ART   OF   STUDY 

The  student  may  as  well  accept  the  truth  of  the 
German  proverb  and  act  upon  it:  "Aller  Anfang  1st 
schwer,"  Every  beginning  is  hard.  The  teacher  who 
seeks  to  make  a  student's  task  easy  by  avoiding  the  gen- 
eral principles  that  underlie  a  subject  not  only  deceives 
himself;  he  is  a  public  criminal.  The  student  who  shys 
at  a  strong  effort  to  master  the  rule,  and  prefers  to  learn 
by  rote,  is  permanently  depriving  himself  of  the  pleasure 
that  comes  of  wielding  intellectual  power. 

It  would  be  very  comfortable  if  every  loaded  wagon 
could  be  started  from  an  inclined  plane.  A  span  of  young 
horses  might  give  so  much  less  trouble  in  the  breaking  if 
it  were  made  easier  for  them  to  walk  and  pull  than  to 
stand  still.  But  they  would  be  more  stupid  in  old  age 
than  in  their  youth.  No  right  start  is  easy ;  no  more  for 
the  student  than  for  a  dumb  beast. 


GOOD  MEMORY  DEPENDS  ON  GOOD   THINKING  183 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  GOOD  MEMORY  DEPENDS  ON  GOOD  THINKING. 

If  what  has  been  said  in  the  last  chapter  is  true,  the 
great  increase  in  the  power  of  memory  which  often  comes 
to  a  faithful  student  results  from  transferring  the  mental 
energy  from  the  succession  of  mere  words  to  the  thoughts 
expressed  by  those  words.  The  grasp  of  the  memory  de- 
pends on  the  mental  grasp  of  the  thought.  And  thought, 
to  be  cohesive,  must  make  every  fact  a  part  of  some  great- 
er whole,  must  bring  it  under  some  rule  or  general  law. 
Real  increase  in  the  power  to  remember  means  an  impor- 
tant change  in  the  whole  attitude  toward  facts. 

It  is  extremely  interesting  to  watch  a  good  student, 
in  any  ordinary  recitation,  recite  first  what  he  has  al- 
ready prepared,  and  afterwards  attack  a  passage  of  a 
foreign  language  which  he  has  never  studied  before. 
Even  in  the  best  of  students  there  is  a  chronic,  inherent 
tendency  to  lapse  from  sharp  and  clear-cut  thinking  to 
mere  remembering.  In  reciting  what  he  has  already  pre- 
pared the  tendency  constantly  is  to  repeat  the  translation 
just  as  it  was  made  in  the  first  place.  There  is  no  vigor- 
ous thinking.  It  is  a  case  of  mere  old-fashioned  verbal 
memory,  and  the  result  is  that  the  student  repeats  all  his 
mistakes  as  well  as  his  successes,  just  as  he  made  them 
when  he  studied  the  lesson. 


164  THE    ART   OF    STUDY 

Now  watch  him  when  he  assaults  a  passage  never 
read  before.  A  different  mental  tone  is  roused  at  sight 
of  it.  The  lion  in  him  begins  to  stir.  The  spirit  of  mas- 
tery comes  over  him.  He  summons  all  his  mental  forces ; 
there  are  all  the  signs  of  mental  labor.  He  is  thinking 
hard.  The  translation  is  crude  enough,  but  there  is  a 
vigor  and  freshness  about  the  mental  movement,  an  at- 
mosphere of  energy  about  it  that  is  charming,  after  the 
listless  machine-like  process  of  repeating  a  prepared  les- 
son. 

It  is  when  the  student  ceases  to  think  and  only  tries 
to  "remember,"  that  he  falls  into  the  rut  of  verbal  mem- 
ory. If  the  same  student,  always  assuming  that  he  is  a 
good  one,  after  preparing  a  lesson,  uses  all  the  knowledge 
he  already  has  of  it  in  order  to  unrlorptnnd  it  again  instead 
of  merely  trying  to  remember  it,  he  will  r>enetrate  deeper 
into  the  meaning  of  the  passage  every  time  he  goes  over 
it.  Such  a  mental  attitude  is  inspiring;  only  it  is  slow  in 
coming  to  birth,  and  in  constant  danger  of  hoing  stifled  by 
I  verbal  memorizing.  From  whatever  point  of  view  the 
matter  is  approached,  the  question  of  improving  the  power 
to  remember  invariably  leads  to  the  answer  that  the  only 
roal  solution  lies  in  better,  clearer,  more  vigorous  think- 
ing. 

The  famous  and  often-quoted  case  of  Thurlow  Weed 
may  as  well  be  pressed  once  more  into  service.  He  was  a 
great  New  York  editor  and  politician;  and  his  calling 
made  him  feel  very  keenly  the  defects  of  his  memory.  He 
could  not  remember  the  faces  and  names  of  the  many  men 


GOOD  MEMORY  DEPENDS  ON  GOOD  THINKING  165 

he  met;  the  happenings  of  the  moment  did  not  make  a 
lasting  impression  on  him.  He  could  not  recall  things 
which  were  important  to  him  afterwards. 

He  finally  resolved  to  review,  at  the  end  of  each  day, 
the  happenings  of  that  day,  and  so  accustom  himself  to 
recall  more  surely  and  accurately  what  he  had  seen  and 
done.  In  short,  he  would  improve  his  memory.  He 
adopted  the  practice,  which  he  kept  up  for  fifty  years,  of 
telling  his  wife  every  night  the  history  of  the  day's  do- 
ings. And  he  became  a  marvel  to  himself.  He  could  re- 
member faces  and  names,  could  give  the  substance  of  what 
he  had  written  and  said  and  could  tell  what  he  had  seen ; 
and  he  could  do  it  all  easily.  In  his  case  there  could  be 
no  question  about  the  marvelous  improvement  in  the  pow- 
er to  remember.  The  secret  of  such  a  power  would  be 
worth  much  fine  gold  to  most  men  of  the  world  as  well  as 
to  scholars  both  the  ripe  and  the  immature. 

We  are  concerned  with  what  really  caused  the  im- 
provement. Could  Thurlow  Weed  remember  the  details 
of  Tuesday  better  merely  because  he  had  exerted  his 
memory  in  rehearsing  to  his  wife  the  happenings  of  Mon- 
day? Prof.  William  James  has  doubtless  given  the  true 
explanation  of  Weed's  increased  power  to  remember.  He 
has  pointedly  remarked  that  the  improvement  of  memory 
was  really  an  improvement  in  attention  and  observation, 
The  fact  that  when  night  came  he  would  call  upon  him- 
self to  relate  what  had  happened  during  the  day  had  a 
very  stimulating  effect  upon  his  attention  throughout  the 
day.  It  caused  his  intellect  to  dance  a  lively  attendance 


16«  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

upon  everything  that  happened  as  it  came  along,  to  per- 
form that  very  important  act  of  reflection  upon  everything 
that  happened  just  as  soon  as  it  was  over  with,  which  re- 
moved the  fatal  blur  from  the  first  impression  and  made 
it  forever  vivid. 

The  systematic,  abbreviated  nightly  review  of  all 
that  happened  during  the  day  gave  the  final  touch  of 
permanence  to  that  day's  experience.  It  made  the  day's 
experience  more  valuable  to  him  by  the  calm  reflections  it 
induced,  and  the  opportunity  it  gave  him  of  comparing 
and  connecting  the  facts  of  that  day  with  the  rest  of  the 
best  and  most  important  experiences  of  his  life.  It  was 
not  sheer  practice  in  recalling  that  wrought  the  change  in 
him.  It  was  a  change  of  method.  By  habitually  applying 
his  thinking  powers  to  the  details,  as  they  occurred,  his 
experiences  always  left  clear  impressions,  and  the  imme- 
diate and  regular  review  fixed  them,  organized  them  and 
aaeociated  them  with  his  general  experiences. 

A  day's  experience  is  comparatively  safe  in  any  man's 
memory,  if  it  is  treated  as  Weed  treated  the  details  of  his 
life.  There  was  no  mystery  about  his  ability  to  remem- 
ber names  and  faces  and  all  other  things  both  long  and 
well.  It  was  doubtless  a  case  of  strenuous  application  of 
thinking  powers  which  are  usually  more  than  half  asleep. 

The  fateful  influence  of  the  first  impression  we  re- 
ceive of  anything,  upon  our  whole  later  attitude  toward 
the  information  then  acquired,  has  been  already  dwelt 
upon.  An  error  in  observation,  inadequate  comprehen- 
sion, a  misinterpretation  at  the  outset,  makes  accuracy, 


GOOD  MEMORY  DEPENDS  ON  GOOD  THINKING  167 

clearness  and  stability  a  practical  impossibility  afterwards. 
The  first  impression  propagates  itself  with  all  its  defects ; 
and  plants  itself  so  firmly  that  it  can  be  removed  or  im- 
proved only  by  a  violent  mental  wrench.  It  is  as  difficult 
as  the  eradication  of  a  bad  habit.  Most  of  the  experi- 
ences of  life  aside  from  those  of  daily  routine,  are  not 
usually  repeated ;  and  unless  they  are  surely  and  correctly 
fixed  they  are  lost  or  valueless. 

The  student's  task  is  to  seek  deliberately  and  by 
every  available  means,  to  make  the  first  impression  im- 
pressive. If  he  fails  to  do  this  his  knowledge  will  have 
but  little  passing  value  and  no  future  value  whatever.  It 
will  be  only  mental  litter.  He  cannot  set  up  the  defense 
of  the  old  lady  whom  the  minister  asjced  on  Monday  what 
help  she  had  gained  from  the  sermon  on  Sunday.  She 
had  to  admit  that  she  did  not  remember  anything;  but 
she  cleared  herself  with  a  figure  of  speech.  The  clothes 
that  she  had  been  washing  no  longer  held  any  of  the 
water,  but  they  were  clean;  so  she  had  forgotten  what 
was  said,  but  she  was  better  for  what  she  had  heard. 
The  student  cannot  afford  to  get  only  the  passing  tempo- 
rary effect  of  study  and  lose  the  facts  immediately  so 
that  he  can  never  recover  them. 

There  are  two  ways  in  which  one  may  seek  to  grasp 
a  subject  or  the  task  of  a  day.  A  novel,  to  be  an  artistic 
success,  must  proceed  by  steady  progress  toward  a  climax, 
and  yet  the  elements  of  uncertainty  must  be  great  enough 
to  keep  the  reader's  interest  keyed  up.  The  zest  of  life 
itself  comes  largely  from  the  fact  that  we  can  plan  for  it 


168  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

only  in  part.  It  would  be  barren  of  its  best  influence  if 
iture  could  be  fully  foreseen  or  if  it  were  utterly  be- 
yond our  ken.  It  is  the  delightful  uncertainty  tempered 
with  perpetual  hope  that  makes  life  what  it  is  and  keeps 
us  active.  In  our  reading  and  in  our  other  pleasurable 
:v  tivities  we  are  like  the  little  bear  in  the  story:  "We  like 
to  be  made  nervous."  If  this  were  the  student's  chief 
aim  he  would  do  well  to  seek  only  the  temporary  impres- 
sion for  the  sake  of  the  feeling  it  produces. 

But  his  aim  is  solid,  permanent  acquisition.  To  re- 
turn to  the  novel,  what  the  student  wants  is  to  grasp  it 
as  a  plot,  a  structure,  and  a  work  of  art.  He  wants  to 
see  what  relation  each  part  bears  to  the  whole.  He  wants 
to  "see  the  wheels  go  'round/'  To  this  end  he  would  do 
woll  to  read  the  end  of  the  story  first.  Then  he  would 
have  the  result  of  all  the  sentiment  and  passion  and 
agony  and  what  not  in  mind  as  he  reads  each  detail.  He 
would  then  be  able  to  read  everything  in  the  light  of  the 
final  outcome,  and  judge  of  the  relative  value  and  see  the 
relation  of  each  part  to  the  whole.  This  method  would 
largely  eliminate  feeling  from  the  task,  but  it  would  give 
a  much  stronger  mental  grasp  of  the  whole  and  of  each 
part  at  a  single  reading. 

It  has  been  said  of  Sir  Henry  Maine,  the  author  of 
Ancient  Law,  that  he  could  tear  the  heart  out  of  a  book 
at  a  single  reading.  It  was  also  true  of  him  that  his 
thought  was  clear  and  his  memory  good.  At  bottom  the 
two  powers  are  really  one.  The  power  to  retain  in  mem- 
ory the  contents  of  a  book,  depends  entirely  on  the  power 


GOOD  MEMORY  DEPENDS  ON  GOOD  THINKING  169 

to  grasp  its  contents  when  it  is  read.  The  masterful 
reader  has  a  masterful  memory. 

It  is  interesting  to  watch  the  development  of  mental 
power  in  a  good  student.  He  may  not  be  conscious  of 
what  is  taking  place  within  him;  he  may  only  come  to 
feel,  in  the  course  of  time,  that  he  has  become  a  master 
in  the  art  of  learning.  But  the  process  involves  a  com- 
plete change  of  front  towards  the  facts  that  he  tries  to 
learn.  Instead  of  dwelling  upon  and  trying  to  remember 
each  detail  separately  as  it  comes  up,  each  paragraph  as 
he  reads  it,  each  word  and  clause  as  he  translates  it,  with- 
out reference  to  what  has  gone  before  or  what  is  coming 
after,  he  learns  in  time  to  grasp  the  subject  as  a  whole. 
His  mind  searches  for  and  clings  to  the  general  truth, 
to  the  underlying  principle,  and  tries  to  uhderstand  each 
detail  in  its  relation  to  the  whole.  The  increased  vitality 
of  his  memory  is  due  to  this  powerful  habit  of  grappling 
at  the  earliest  possible  moment  with  the  whole  of  the 
subject,  and  tninking  about  it  as  a  whole  while  he  deals 
with  the  details. 

Every  powerful  scholar,  whose  memory  is  true  to 
him,  possesses  this  power  of  seizing  at  once  upon  the  es- 
sence of  what  is  read  or  heard  or  seen;  and  by  means  of 
this  clear  and  sweeping  mental  grasp  he  is  able  to  cling 
successfully  to  a  vast  body  of  details  that  would  otherwise 
make  no  impression  and  be  utterly  lost.  Of  course,  this 
power  comes  very  slowly — like  everything  else  that  is 
worth  having — its  soil  is  long  study  and  broad  training. 

A  student  does  not  need  to  be  a  philosopher  to  start 


170  THE   ART    OF    STUDY 

with,  in  order  to  acquire  this  power.  He  only  needs  to 
avail  himself  of  what  he  has.  If  he  is  dissecting  the 
pneumo-gastric  nerve  of  a  cat  he  can  cut  and  pick  and 
peer  a  whole  day  and  be  no  wiser  when  he  quits  than 
when  he  began;  and  he  can  forget  immediately  every- 
thing he  has  done.  But  if  he  traces  the  nerve  to  the 
medulla  oblongata  and  then  to  its  extremities  in  lungs 
and  stomach  and  heart  and  all  the  time  keeps  thinking 
about  the  parts  that  are  connected  by  it,  his  knowledge  of 
the  nerve  when  he  gets  through,  will  be  organized  into 
a  system. 

The  right  way  to  approach  any  subject  or  any  day's 
lesson  or  any  fact  is  to  prepare  the  mind  for  its  reception 
by  a  review  of  what  has  gone  before  and  is  already  known. 
The  student  who  does  not  think  over  yesterday's  work 
before  he  begins  that  of  to-day,  who  does  not  think  over 
his  dissection  of  the  nervous  system  of  the  bird  that  he 
has  studied,  before  he  begins  to  dissect  the  nerves  of  the 
rabbit  which  he  has  not  studied,  fails  to  make  use  of  the 
"flying  start."  He  fails  to  prepare  himself  to  understand 
what  is  coming.  An  honest  review  places  the  mind  in  a 
state  of  expectant  attention. 

The  next  step  is  to  forecast  as  far  as  possible  what 
is  to  be  expected  when  the  advance  is  made.  If  the  sub- 
ject is  a  translation,  the  best  thing  that  can  be  done  to 
increase  both  speed  and  accuracy,  is  to  reaft  the  whole 
passage  at  sight  without  help  of  grammar  or  dictionary. 
This  preliminary  struggle  to  understand  what  is  new  has 
a  double  effect.  It  puts  to  the  severest  possible  test  what 


GOOD  MEMORY  DEPENDS  ON  GOOD  THINKING  171 

the  student  already  knows;  and  even  though  only  an  occa- 
sional word  or  clause  is  understood,  it  gives  invaluable 
help  in  understanding  the  drift  of  the  work  when  it  comes 
to  be  more  laboriously  done.  Even  the  most  ignorant 
road-builder  knows  enough  to  blaze  the  trees  through  the 
woods  before  he  begins  the  slower  work  of  clearing.  By 
doing  so  he  gives  himself  direction. 

When  the  same  plan  is  followed  in  study,  the  intel- 
lect is  thoroughly  awakened  to  the  problem;  and  it  acts 
much  more  vigorously  in  assaulting  it.  The  few  gleams 
of  light  that  penetrate  the  dense  unknown  put  the  mind 
not  only  in  a  waking  but  a  working  state.  This  first  inde- 
pendent reading  becomes  by  practice  more  valuable  be- 
cause it  becomes  more  thorough  and  satisfactory.  With 
the  known  thoroughly  reviewed  and  the  unknown  given 
a  good  preliminary  survey,  the  new  task  becomes  interest- 
ing because  the  elements  for  its  successful  solution  are 
present.  The  past  is  thoroughly  understood,  the  nature 
of  the  task  ahead  is  in  a  measure  comprehended  and  the 
mind  itself  is  in  a  high  state  of  activity. 

What  is  true  of  language  study  is  true  of  mathe- 
matics or  history,  or  of  the  more  practical-looking  prob- 
lems of  the  laboratory  or  of  the  great  and  difficult  prob- 
lems of  the  thoroughly  trained,  original,  scientific  investi- 
gator. The  student  who  does  not  and  cannot  get  a  fore- 
cast of  what  he  is  studying,  who  does  not  at  the  earliest 
moment  get  hold  of  the  controlling  thought  of  his  sub- 
ject, may  not  be  an  idler,  but  is  an  aimless  worker. 

What  has  all    this   to   do  with  memory?    What  is 


172  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

thoroughly  understood  in  the  getting  and  is  carefully 
thought  over  afterwards  will  be  remembered.  Memory 
will  hold  safely  what  is  committed  to  her  in  baskets  woven 
of  the  tough  fibres  of  thought. 

Of  course  there  is  difficulty  connected  with  the 
method  of  study  suggested  above.  The  temptation  to 
which  man  most  readily  yields  is  the  temptation  to  pres- 
ent convenience ;  and  thinking  is  another  name  for  stren- 
uous endeavor.  Effort  to  secure  something  apparently 
distant  is  the  rock  that  wrecks  the  ambitions  of  all  human- 
ity, except  that  of  the  thousandth  man.  But  the  general 
who  did  not  plan  his  campaign  could  not  meet  success- 
fully the  manoeuvres  of  his  enemy.  The  business  man 
who  did  not  draw  on  his  experience  to  form  his  judgments 
about  the  future,  and  did  not  forecast  the  future  before 
entering  it  with  business  risks,  would  be  doomed  to  feed 
on  the  thistles  of  disappointment.  The  student  who 
does  not  bring  up  all  he  knows  to  bear  upon  the  problem 
that  is  ahead  and  does  not  seek  to  get  some  understand- 
ing of  the  nature  of  what  is  to  come,  is  whipped  before  he 
begins.  He  may  recite  a  lesson,  he  may  pass  an  examin- 
ation, he  may  get  a  diploma,  but  he  is  not  developing  in- 
tellectual power. 

One  phase  of  this  subject  has  been  several  times  men- 
tioned but  has  not  been  fully  developed.  In  order  to 
transform  anything  that  is  thoroughly  understood  into  a 
permanent  acquisition  that  can  be  readily  reproduced  in 
all  its  original  completeness  whenever  it  is  wanted,  after- 
thought is  absolutely  necessary.  Children  and  most 


GOOD  MEMORY  DEPENDS  ON  GOOD  THINKING   173 

grown  people  are  not  given  to  reflective  afterthought. 
The  experiences  of  the  moment  pass  by  and  are  never  pur- 
posely recalled.  What  is  read  leaves  only  a  vanishing  im- 
pression. All  things  seem  to  be  obliterated  by  what  fol- 
lows next. 

Each  passing  thought,  whether  it  is  only  casual  or 
the  result  of  careful  study,  has  a  more  or  less  marked  tem- 
porary effect.  But  the  everlasting  changes  that  go  on 
in  thought  wipe  out  what  has  gone  before;  and  generally 
the  fading  process  is  rapid.  Details  go  first,  and  then 
the  larger  outlines,  until  nothing  is  left  except  the  re- 
membrance that  something  has  been  forgotten. 

The  student's  only  safety  lies  in  reconsideration  of 
each  subject  at  the  earliest  possible  moment.  After- 
thought, to  be  effective  in  fixing  things  permanently  in 
the  mind,  must  be  performed  while  even  the  details  are 
yet  fresh  and  have  not  yet  suffered  from  the  perpetual 
flow  of  thought.  The  truth  of  this  statement  needs  no 
corroboration.  It  lies  at  the  door  of  everyone's  experi- 
ence. 

The  student  to  be  sure,  whose  time  is  yet  divided 
among  several  subjects,  who  hurries  from  one  topic  to 
the  consideration  of  another  several  times  each  day,  is 
almost  compelled  to  drop  a  subject  entirely  as  soon  as  it 
is  presented  to  him.  This,  coupled  with  the  normal  re- 
luctance to  do  a  thing  until  it  can  no  longer  be  avoided 
deprives  most  students  of  a  habit  which  would  strengthen 
tenfold  their  hold  upon  what  they  have  learned.  It  was 
the  immediate  and  deliberate  review  that  made  Thurlow 


174  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

Weed  alert  during  the  day,  and  gave  the  regular  oppor- 
tunity for  afterthought  which  always  distinguishes  knowl- 
edge thus  dealt  with  from  the  common  passing  experiences 
that  are  not  promptly  and  purposely  recalled.  This 
prompt  afterthought,  while  the  details  are  yet  fresh,  is 
the  salvation  of  knowledge. 

\  Most  students,  at  the  conclusion  of  a  period  of  work 
or  recitation,  close  their  books  and  intellects,  too,  upon 
the  subject  that  has  been  dealt  with.  Notebooks  are 
trusted  to  retain  what  has  been  heard.  In  the  laboratory, 
the  mind  utterly  lets  go  of  the  subject  as  soon  as  the 
hands  let  go  of  the  tools.  There  is  not  the  slightest  effort 
at  reflection  upon  what  has  been  done,  until  preparation 
for  the  next  sitting  becomes  absolutely  compulsory.  But 
what  is  the  comparative  value  of  thinking  over  and  ex- 
panding the  notes  on  a  lecture  or  reviewing  a  lesson,  if  so 
long  a  time  has  elapsed  that  all  the  details  and  perhaps 
even  the  chief  bearings  of  the  subject  have  become  hazy 
or  been  lost  ?  One  would  be  considered  foolish  for  allow- 
ing a  cucumber  to  rot  before  pickling  it,  because  its  good- 
ness consists  in  its  freshness.  But  we  do  not  call  our- 
selves or  allow  others  to  call  us  anything  for  neglecting 
to  fix  the  new  facts  while  they  still  have  vitality.  We 
carry  so  large  a  part  of  our  knowledge  under  our  arms  in- 
stead of  tinder  our  scalps  because  the  notebooks  save  us 
from  the  apparent  necessity  of  immediate  review  and 
afterthought.  We  think  that  what  is  written  is  preserved. 
The  notorious  ineffectiveness  of  cramming,  so  far  as 
real  intellectual  training  is  concerned,  is  due  to  the  fact 


GOOD  MEMORY  DEPENDS  ON  GOOD  THINKING  175 

that  there  is  a  large  amount  of  absorption  without  steady 
afterthought.  There  is  no  time  left  to  fix  facts  by  re- 
view. Cramming  consists  in  the  vigorous  use  of  what 
some  one  has  aptly  called  minute-hand  memory. 

Nothing  that  passes  into  the  human  mind  is  exempt 
from  the  fading  process.  The  most  soul-stirring  thoughts 
and  the  most  startling  experiences  become  dim  in  time, 
and  even  if  they  are  not  forgotten,  grow  more  and  more 
ghostlike.  Only  those  things  are  permanently  well  re- 
membered which  float  in  the  great  current  of  daily 
thought.  If  a  subject  is  constantly  dwelt  upon  by  the 
mind,  its  details  are  always  well  remembered. 
I'  This  leads  us  directly  to  the  fact  that  sooner  or  later 
every  worthy  mind  becomes  dominated  by  one  or  a  few 
great  truths,  one  or  at  most  a  few  great  principles.  When 
this  condition  is  reached,  the  individual's  knowledge  be- 
comes an  organic  system.  Facts  cluster  around  a  great 
truth  because  of  the  bearing  it  has  on  them  and  which 
they  have  on  it.  Not  only  are  one's  thought  and  studies 
and  observations  then  all  directed  toward  testing  and  ex- 
emplifying the  one  great  central  truth  and  toward  the 
search  for  facts  which  relate  directly  to  it ;  but  the  casual 
products  of  experience,  all  that  is  incidentally  read,  heard 
or  observed,  is  made  to  contribute  toward  and  is  brought 
into  some  sort  of  connection  with  the  dominating  central 
truth.  Something  of  value  is  extracted  from  nearly  all 
apparently  useless  scraps  of  information  and  is  absorbed 
into  the  growing  structure  of  thought.  Under  these 
conditions  facts  are  readily  recalled,  because  they  are  for- 


176  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

ever  eddying  somewhere  in  the  great  and  steady  current 
of  thought.  Such  a  great  idea,  dominating  one's  think- 
ing, acts  like  a  magnet;  it  picks  up  and  makes  valuable 
facts  and  bits  of  truth  which  otherwise  would  be  passed 
without  notice. 

I  believe  that  every  student  in  whom  the  leaven  of 
the  intellectual  life  is  really  working  is,  sooner  or  later 
in  his  development  seized  with  a  great  truth.  All  his 
thinking  powers  are  bent  upon  its  unfolding.  All  that 
he  has  hitherto  experienced  or  learned  is  brought  to  bear 
upon  it  in  some  way,  all  that  he  sees  and  hears  and  reads 
bears  out  his  faith  in  it  or  in  some  way  throws  light  upon 
it.  His  whole  life,  both  past  and  present,  clusters  round 
it.  His  best  powers  of  expression  are  devoted  to  its 
service,  and  it  seems  to  him  to  be  the  masterpiece  of  his 
life.  He  may  be  aware  of  what  is  going  on  within  him, 
and  may  feel  that  this  is  his  real  intellectual  birth. 

Later  he  may  learn  to  his  chagrin  that  his  "new 
great  truth"  is  as  old  as  the  first  rosy  streaks  in  the  dis- 
tant dawn  of  civilization,  that  it  has  always  been  known, 
and  treated  through  the  ages  as  a  commonplace  of  human 
thought ;  or  that  it  has  been  exploded  in  every  new  gener- 
ation and  its  falsity  made  plain  to  all  save  the  beginners 
in  intellectual  life.  He  may  outgrow  this  first  intellec- 
tual love,  and  even  wish  to  forget  it.  But  the  memory 
of  it  will  remain  with  him  throughout  the  years  of  his  in- 
tellectual power.  It  marks  the  beginning  of  his  real  men- 
tal life.  The  vigor  which  that  first  big  idea  roused  and 
the  latent  mental  power  that  it  called  into  conscious  ac- 


GOOD  MEMORY  DEPENDS  ON  GOOD  THINKING  177 

tivity  are  never  lost  again  if  the  intellectual  life  is  healthy 
and  can  find  other  great  ideas  to  feed  upon.  Under  such 
conditions  memory  produces  wonders  that  are  undreamed 
of  in  a  mental  life  that  fritters  itself  away  upon  isolated 
fragments  of  thought. 

The  thinking  world  as  a  whole  has  alternating  periods 
of  lethargy  and  of  sublime  inspiration.  When  it  is  seized 
by  a  great  idea  it  fairly  leaps  into  powerful,  progressive 
thought.  Before  1859,  there  was  a  long  period  of  eddies 
and  cross-currents.  But  when  Darwin  hurled  the  princi- 
ple of  Natural  Selection  into  the  world  of  thought,  the 
lion  was  aroused.  Earth  never  saw  so  great  intellectual 
enthusiasm,  such  great  progress  in  so  short  a  time.  The 
world's  thought  about  every  serious  subject  has  been 
more  or  less  reshaped  by  its  influence.  And  the  world's 
memory  awoke.  Old  and  half-forgotten  facts  and  whole 
systems  of  neglected  knowledge  whirled  into  place  as  part 
of  the  great  system.  Now,  almost  undreamed  of  fields 
were  explored  effectively.  The  world  mind  is  becoming 
more  and  more  judicial  toward  this  great,  upheaving 
thought.  The  first  fright  and  the  first  enthusiasm  have 
gone.  But  the  world's  thinking  will  never  again  be  like 
what  it  was  before  the  principle  of  Natural  Selection  was 
dropped  into  it.  The  world's  memory  of  its  old  facts  has 
become  permanently  vivid  because  they  have  taken  on  a 
new  significance,  they  have  been  worked  into  an  intellec- 
tual pattern. 

Darwin  himself  was  an  illustrious  example  of  the 
truth  that  this  chapter  has  sought  to  bring  out.  Nearly 


178  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

his  whole  life  was  devoted  to  the  development  and  proof 
of  one  great  principle,  and  to  tracing  its  consequences. 
Everything  he  met  in  the  way  of  information  was  brought 
to  bear  upon  his  theory.  He  searched  books  and  sought 
information  from  living  men  and  labored  incessantly  on 
original  investigations,  all  for  one  purpose.  He  brought 
all  nature  and  the  intellectual  labors  of  all  men  of  all 
times  under  tribute  to  his  one  great  thought.  Will  any 
fact  of  value  be  lost  to  such  a  man?  He  will  doubtless 
forget  many  things,  many  more  perhaps  than  most  other 
people  ever  learn.  Things  are  not  remembered  merely 
for  the  sake  of  remembering.  But  the  reproductive  mem- 
ory brings  back  the  facts  again  when  the  mind  returns  to 
the  great  subject  upon  which  it  has  spent  the  vigor  of  its 
youth  and  young  maturity.  And  when  the  facts  come 
back,  they  return  in  natural  groups  because  they  were 
welded  at  the  outset  into  a  great  chain  of  thought.  What 
is  true  of  the  memory  of  a  great  thinker  must  sooner  or 
later  become  true  of  the  memory  of  the  humblest  suc- 
cessful student.  The  cultivated  memory  leans  for  its 
strength  upon  general  truths  to  which  all  its  separate  facts 
cling. 

It  is  possible  for  any  one,  under  any  circumstances,  to 
remember  a  few  things  well  by  constantly  recalling  them, 
even  though  they  have  no  vital  connection  in  thought 
with  other  things.  But  one  of  the  chief  desirable  results 
of  a  good  education  is  the  formation  of  systems  of 
thought,  getting  possession  of  a  great  truth  or  principle 
and  regarding  all  facts  in  the  light  of  it.  This  habit  re- 


GOOD  MEMORY  DEPENDS  ON  GOOD  THINKING   ITS 

suits  in  a  vast  and  lasting  power  to  recall  all  facts  in  their 
rational  relations.  Under  the  sway  of  thought  memory 
becomes  both  voluminous  and  accurate. 


180  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
REASONING:  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

It  has  been  truly  said  that  any  fool  can  reason.  The 
poorest  specimen  of  unskilled  workman,  incompetent  from 
lack  of  sense  and  a  breaker  of  tools  from  awkwardness, 
can  associate  the  twelve-o'clock  dinner-horn  with  "quitting 
time  and  something  to  eat/7  There  is  in  this  case  neither 
dullness  of  perception  nor  want  of  will. 

But  a  horse  can  do  just  as  severe  intellectual  work  as 
this.  One  fall  I  drove  five  horses  to  a  gang  plow  on  a 
prairie  farm  in  Dakota.  We  went  our  weary  rounds  all 
day  without  much  sign  of  intelligence  on  anybody's  part. 
We  usually  reached  the  far  end  of  the  farm  on  our  last 
round  about  sundown.  As  a  rule  there  was  little  intellec- 
tual stimulus  in  the  ashy  blue  sky  and  brown  prairie,  but 
when  the  sun  wedged  itself  between  the  two  on  the  horizon 
there  was  beauty  in  Dakota.  When  we  reached  the  end 
of  the  furrow  and  the  plowshares  rose  out  of  the  earth, 
even  the  tired  horses  stood  still  and  lifted  their  heavy 
heads  to  gaze  at  the  western  sky.  Perhaps  no  poetic  fancy 
flashed  through  their  brains ;  even  the  driver  made  short 
work  of  fancy  then.  But  when  the  team  turned  home- 
ward and  started  down  the  last  furrow  the  horse-mind  be- 
gan to  make  associations. 


REASONING:    ILLUSTRATIONS  181 

One  of  the  horses  was  an  iron  gray,  the  biggest  horse 
and  the  biggest  dunce  in  the  team.  He  did  not  know 
enough  to  "stand  over"  when  any  one  was  feeding  him; 
did  not  know  enough  to  keep  his  feet  off  the  driver's  in 
the  stall.  But  amazing  intelligence  appeared  at  sundown. 
No  sooner  did  he  feel  the  tightening  bit  that  meant  "turn 
into  the  furrow"  than  it  dawned  on  him  that  the  stable, 
with  rest  and  food,  was  half  a  mile  away. 

On  that  turn  he  always  led  the  way  with  a  semimi- 
raculous  action  of  his  long  legs  and  clumsy  feet.  He  al- 
most pulled  the  other  four  horses  and  the  plow  and  driver 
half  a  mile  at  greater  speed  than  I  could  worry  out  of 
him  under  the  lash  at  any  other  time  of  day.  He  always 
reached  the  stable  in  a  wringing  sweat.  The  great  gray 
beast  looms  up  before  me  now,  at  the  end  of  fifteen  years ; 
the  quality  of  his  intelligence  was  so  impressive  that  even 
now,  whenever  I  think  of  him,  I  brace  myself  in  imagina- 
tion against  the  side  of  the  stall  in  physical  argument 
with  the  brute  that  had  "reasoning  power"  enough  to 
recognize  quitting  time,  but  could  not  bide  his  time  about 
getting  home. 

Much  of  the  reasoning  that  we  do  is  of  the  same  na- 
ture as  that  done  by  the  stupid  laborer  when  he  hears  the 
dinner-horn,  and  by  the  stupid  horse.  In  such  cases,  sev- 
eral things  occur  together  so  often  that  they  become 
closely  associated  in  memory.  Apparently  there  is  little 
more  involved  here  than  association  by  contiguity,  which 
mental  power  men  and  beasts  no  doubt  possess  in  com- 
mon. 


182  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

The  kind  of  reasoning  displayed  here  is  adapted 
to  the  dead  and  dreary  routine  of  any  kind  of  life  that 
knows  no  change  but  that  of  endless  repetition.  In 
these  conditions  it  is  effective,  and  enough  to  secure 
the  practical  comfort  of  man  and  beast.  There  is  no 
mental  strain  in  such  a  mental  performance,  nor  any 
spiritual  exuberance  either.  The  joy  is  a  low-grade, 
physical  one. 

It  is  the  reasoning  of  routine,  but  not  of  emer- 
gency. The  horn  might  blow  near  the  noon  hour  be- 
cause the  fat  in  the  pan  had  caught  fire  and  the  house 
was  burning;  or  the  driver  might  conclude  to  make 
one  more  round  in  the  gloaming  in  order  to  finish  a 
'land/'  Such  occasional  accidents  severely  jar  the  com- 
fortable mental  combination.  But  subsequent  regular- 
ity with  which  certain  things  always  occur  together  and 
the  strong  force  of  habit  immediately  restore  the  men- 
tal equanimity. 

But  if  the  "accidental  variations"  become  so  nu- 
merous as  to  make  the  habitual  associations  uncertain, 
man  and  beast  may  both  lose  hold  of  the  real  connections 
between  things.  Instinct  and  the  force  of  habit  reduce 
enormously  the  tax  upon  our  reasoning  powers  because 
they  take  absolute  control  of  all  the  routine  elements 
of  our  lives,  and  make  them  steadily  and  monotonously 
repeat  themselves.  But  what  a  crisis  comes  when  a 
sudden  and  unannounced  change  of  the  common  cir- 
cumstances arises,  what  ridiculous  situations  habit  then 
creates, — before  attention  has  been  attracted  and  rea- 


REASONING:    ILLUSTRATIONS  183 

son  has  had  opportunity  to  reconsider  the  general  situ- 
ation! It  is  when  such  accidental  variations  become 
common  that  a  higher  type  of  reasoning  is  required.  The 
higher  life  is  not  merely  one  of  routine,  but  of  emergen- 
cies also,  of  new  combinations  leading  to  new  results.  It 
is  the  power  to  anticipate  and  provide  for  these  that  marks 
the  higher  levels  of  human  reasoning. 

A  few  illustrations  will  help  to  make  clear  the  in- 
creasing complexity  of  problems  that  the  mind  has  to 
deal  with.  If  a  dog  should  lie  down  near  his  master 
while  the  latter  digs  a  hole  in  the  ground,  even  the  dog 
would  connect  his  master's  presence  in  the  hole  with 
the  dirt  that  flies  out  at  measured  intervals.  If  he 
should  afterwards  happen  upon  the  hole  in  his  master's 
absence  he  would  probably  not  say  to  himself,  "Ah!  a 
hole;  this  pile  of  dirt  came  out  of  it;  this  is  the  work 
of  man."  A  dog  may  be  able  to  generalize  in  this  fashion 
but  we  have  no  proof  that  he  would  do  so.  But  it  would 
be  very  dog-like  for  him  to  mount  the  heap  of  dirt,  cock 
his  head  and  ears,  and  look  into  the  hole  for  his  master. 
The  hole  and  the  dirt  suggest  his  master  because  his 
master  is  associated  with  those  things  in  the  dog's  ex- 
perience. The  next  time  he  sees  two  of  the  elements 
in  the  combination — the  hole  and  the  dirt — he  looks  for 
the  third,  his  master. 

If  a  man  should  see  a  hole  with  a  pile  of  dirt  be- 
side it,  he  would  infer  that  someone  had  been  digging 
there,  and  would  feel  very  certain  about  it.  If  he  should 
see  dirt  suddenly  flying  out  of  the  hole  he  would  infer 


184  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

at  once  that  a  man  was  there  and  at  work.  Flying  dirt 
would  be  the  "proof."  It  is  an  effect,  and  the  usual 
agent,  a  man,  is  assumed  without  hesitation  as  the 
cause.  The  observer  might  peer  into  the  hole;  but  it 
is  not  likely  that  he  would  do  it  for  the  purpose  of  con- 
vincing himself  that  a  man  was  there.  He  knows  that 
well  enough  already.  If  he  looks  in,  it  will  probably  be 
merely  to  find  out  what  man  it  is,  and  why  the  work 
is  being  done. 

The  inference  that  a  man  is  working  below  is  based 
on  frequent  previous  observations  of  the  same  combina- 
tion. Man,  hole,  flying  dirt,  have  all  been  seen  before. 
It  is  always  probable — practically  certain — that  com- 
binations observed  before,  will  hold  true  again;  when 
part  of  the  facts  are  observed  the  rest  are  inferred. 
The  certainty  is  due  to  the  observer's  previous  experi- 
ence of  the  same  kind  of  thing. 

When  we  come  to  deal  with  cases,  however,  in  which 
there  has  been  no  previous  direct  observation,  the  prob- 
lem is  no  longer  so  simple  and  direct;  and  what  is  worse, 
the  mind  may  not  recognize  that  there  is  any  problem 
at  all.  Suppose,  for  example,  a  great  cliff  of  hard, 
flinty  quartzite  like  that  on  the  shore  of  Devil's  Lake, 
Wisconsin,  with  a  big  talus  of  broken  rock  sloping  away 
at  its  base.  Now  I  will  venture  the  assertion  that  very 
many  men  and  women,  not  necessarily  stupid,  have  seen 
them  both,  and  have  thought  of  the  former  as  being  very 
high,  and  of  the  latter  as  extending  to  the  water;  but 
without  ever  thinking  of  cliff  and  talus  together  and 


REASONING:    ILLUSTRATIONS  185 

their  connection  with  each  other;  and  much  less  have 
they  come,  by  seeing  these,  to  do  any  general  thinking 
about  cliffs  and  the  inevitable  talus  of  rock  and  soil  at 
their  base.  The  mere  fact  that  two  things  are  close 
together  gives  no  assurance  that  the  mind  will  work  out 
any  connection  between  them.  There  stands  the  cliff 
and  there  lies  the  talus,  dead,  inert,  staring  facts. 

But  if  any  untutored  man  of  fairly  good  intellect 
were  asked,  "Why  is  the  talus  there  ?"  if,  in  other 
words,  he  were  startled  by  the  suggestion  of  a  connection 
between  them,  the  chances  are  that  he  would  give  a  cor- 
rect answer,  that  the  pieces  had  broken  and  fallen  from 
the  face  of  the  cliff,  and  had  heaped  up  in  a  sloping  mass 
at  its  foot.  He  would  look,  and  then  he  would  see  above 
him,  pieces  large  and  small,  loose  or  nearly  so,  and  he 
might  then  even  stand  in  expectation  of  seeing  one  fall. 
Everything  would  be  full  of  suggestion  to  him,  and 
the  relation  of  the  talus  to  the  cliff  would  be  perfectly 
plain,  although  he  might  never  have  seen  the  combina- 
tion before.  But  the  directness  with  which  he  reaches 
the  conclusion,  and  its  apparent  certainty  are  based  upon 
lifelong  previous  experience.  Observations  that  have 
left  no  tangible  record  in  the  memory,  the  bricks  and 
mortar  of  unremembered  experience  form  the  road-bed 
of  his  way  of  thinking.  He  may  not  recall  at  all  that 
he  has  seen  thousands  of  things  fall,  as  wood  from  a 
corded  heap,  or  sand  on  a  steep  incline;  none  of  these 
things  may  be  remembered  when  he  looks  at  the  talus, 
but  all  of  these  experiences,  unwittingly  to  him,  have 


186  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

been  built  into  the  foundation  of  his  thinking.  They 
form  the  basis  of  "common  sense"  by  means  of  which  he 
reaches  his  conclusions. 

For  us  the  chief  interest  of  the  above  examples  lies 
in  the  fact  that  nearly  all  men  would  attend  spontane- 
ously to  dirt  flying  from  a  hole  in  the  ground,  because 
the  process  goes  on  before  their  eyes.  All  they  need  to 
do  is  to  look;  it  is  no  tax  on  tKe  brain.  But  probably 
comparatively  few  who  have  seen  that  cliff  and  talus 
have  ever  thought  at  all  about  the  relation  of  the  one 
to  the  other.  Everything  is  at  perfect  rest  as  if  things 
had  been  thus  since  the  morning  of  creation;  and  the 
mind  remains  a  blank.  A  singing  mosquito  can  always 
get  a  hearing;  but  the  vast  and  silent  witnesses  of  na- 
ture are  the  last  to  get  attention.  They  have  no  bills 
to  puncture  us  with ;  we  have  no  special  organ — no  higher 
sense — that  lets  in  the  mighty  truths.  They  come  but 
slowly  by  the  devious  and  much  obstructed  paths  of  men- 
tal effort. 

But  even  in  this  problem  of  the  cliff  and  its  talus, 
the  elements  are  simple  and  close  at  hand.  When  time 
enough  has  been  allowed  the  rest  is  easy  thinking.  Rea- 
soning on  the  subject  is  likely  to  be  right  reasoning.  But 
suppose  the  case  of  a  rock  concerning  which  nothing  is 
known  nor  can  be  directly  inferred — the  time  when 
it  came,  the  place  that  it  came  from,  and  the  way  in 
which  it  came — time,  space  and  the  necessary  force  all 
a  mystery. 

There  is  a  big  black  rock — "Lone  Rock" — a  thing 


REASONING:    ILLUSTRATIONS  187 

of  many  tons  that  lies  partly  exposed  and  no  one  knows 
how  deeply  imbedded  high  up  on  the  shrubby  bank  of 
a  mountain  stream  in  a  little  canyon  in  California,  with 
no  other  rock  like  it  in  the  neighborhood.  The  loose 
rocks  in  the  creek  and  on  the  banks  are  easily  accounted 
for;  they  came  from  the  neighboring  cliffs.  It  certain- 
ly is  not  native  in  the  place  where  it  lies ;  it  is  a  stranger, 
and  a  puzzle.  Such  a  phenomenon  is  strange  enough 
to  attract  some  attention.  And  it  is  around  this  kind 
of  problem  that  the  human  mind  delights  to  play  in  the 
lurid  and  ineffective  lightning  flashes  of  opinion  and 
theory. 

We  are  all  much  more  prone  than  we  like  to  admit, 
to  use  explanations  that  are  second  hand.  It  is  inevi- 
table that  we  should  undertake  to  explain  the  unknown 
by  the  known.  Now  we  all  have  faith  in  a  rock's  ability 
to  fall.  And  the  only  explanation  that  I  ever  heard  from 
either  man  or  boj  about  the  presence  of  Lone  Rock  in 
that  place  was  that  it  was  a  meteorite:  it  had  fallen 
there. 

The  explanation  had  the  virtue  of  slight  plausibility. 
Meteorites  do  fall.  None  who  gave  the  explanation  were 
handicapped  by  any  actual  knowledge  of  meteorites.  In 
fact,  a  rock  that  had  fallen  out  of  the  universe  into  a 
creek  bed  would  naturally  be  black.  Those  who  under- 
took to  explain  its  presence  knew  nothing  about  the 
rocks  any  distance  from  that  neighborhood;  and  any- 
way, rocks  like  that  would  not  move  horizontally;  so  it 
must  have  fallen.  But  I  had  seen  in  museums  meteor- 


188  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

ites  that  had  actually  fallen;  was  badly  contaminated 
with  geological  doctrines  and  the  notion  that  things  in 
this  world  are  less  prone  to  fall  into  place  than  they  are 
to  be  carried  or  pushed  into  place;  and  had  in  my  life 
seen  other  blue-black  rock  not  unlike  this  particular  one. 
In  short,  having  on  hand  a  considerable  stock  of  trouble- 
some information  and  theory,  I  rejected  the  meteorite 
doctrine  and  believed  that  Lone  Rock  was  of  the  "earth, 
earthy." 

Its  getting  there  was  a  prehistoric  fact  and  could 
not  be  proved  by  witnesses.  But  I  had  in  mind  a  theory 
of  how  it  got  there,  and  a  large,  indefinite  feeling  of  the 
distant  when.  My  little  boy  and  I  had  given  ourselves 
a  roving  commission  to  have  fun  and  find  out  things  in 
that  general  neighborhood  during  two  summer  months, 
and  I  thought  it  might  help  him  intellectually  if  he 
helped  me  to  solve  the  problem  of  Lone  Rock.  It  might 
be  possible  to  determine  whence  it  came.  Men  are  hung 
for  things  that  no  one  ever  saw  them  do;  so  we  might 
be  able  to  tell  whence  this  rock  was  borne. 

We  began  by  making  a  big  assumption — that  it  came 
down  stream.  This  bald  assumption  gave  us  no  mental 
discomfort,  it  had  no  competitors.  It  seemed  to  be  the 
only  possible  one.  To  his  mind  it  was  the  natural  thing 
to  assume,  and  the  theory  that  I  had  framed  required  it. 
One  day  we  left  camp,  several  miles  above  the  Rock,  and 
traveled  over  the  hills  to  the  upper  reaches  of  the  wild 
and  tortuous  stream-bed.  There  was  no  wild  and  tor- 
tuous stream,  only  occasional  pools.  I  mention  this  fact 


REASONING:    ILLUSTRATIONS  189 

to  show  how  much  we  used  our  faith  to  complete  our 
"knowledge,"  how  much  we  inferred  about  things  that 
we  never  saw,  that  were  only  suggested  by  circumstan- 
tial evidence.  Still,  we  knew  it  was  the  bed  of  a  stream, 
though  we  had  never  seen  running  water  in  its  upper 
reaches. 

We  had  not  gone  far  down  the  bed,  when  we  came 
upon  a  great  formation  of  blue-black  rock,  cut  through 
by  the  rushing  stream  that  we  never  saw,  and  reaching 
back  under  the  hills.  Along  the  sides  of  the  stream 
gigantic  blocks  of  it,  broken  loose  from  the  solid  for- 
mation, but  only  a  little  out  of  place  and  scarcely  water- 
worn,  lay  ready,  as  it  were,  to  be  carried  off  by  some 
mighty  force.  As  we  passed  out  from  between  these 
great  blocks  of  blue-black  rock,  there  passed  into  our 
minds  the  "certainty"  that  we  had  found  the  native  seat 
of  Lone  Rock.  Just  below  the  down-stream  edge  of  the 
formation,  we  still  found  large  boulders  of  it,  a  little 
more  water  and  weather-worn. 

Even  the  little  boy  could  believe  that  such  large 
rocks  could  be  pushed  somehow  so  short  a  distance;  in 
fact,  he  could  see  that  they  must  have  been,  because  there 
was  the  big  formation  from  which  they  came,  and  there 
they  lay,  down  hill  from  home.  He  knew  something 
about  the  derm-gods  of  Greece  and  their  ability  to  move 
things,  but  we  had  carefully  excluded  them  from  con- 
sideration. He  had  rolled  some  quite  heavy  rocks  down 
hill  himself,  but  had  never  seen  at  work  any  force  capable 
of  moving  such  as  these.  With  the  help  of  a  few  sug- 


190  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

gestions  about  floods  of  water  and  frozen  jams  of  ice  and 
logs  and  trees  he  began  to  conceive  of  natural  powers 
great  enough  to  move  big  rocks;  and  in  a  little  while 
he  was  as  wild  a  speculator  and  as  active  a  geologist  as 
any  one,  young  or  old,  that  I  ever  saw.  When  once  his 
mind  had  taken  the  first  short  step  of  moving  a  big  rock 
a  little  way  down  hill,  he  realized  that  more  of  the  same 
kind  of  push  in  the  same  direction  would  account  for 
Lone  Rock  several  miles  below. 

Now  all  that  has  been  said  about  Lone  Rock  sounds 
like  what  it  really  is:  the  philosophy  of  an  eleven  year 
old  boy.  He  moved  swiftly  and  with  a  fair  degree  of 
certainty  toward  a  great  geological  theory  and  the  solu- 
tion of  a  hard  problem  for  which  most  men  and  boys 
gave  an  explanation  without  investigation. 

But  not  even  the  first  step  could  have  been  taken 
without  the  friendly  push  of  suggestion.  With  this 
help,  judiciously  and  sparingly  given,  he  was  aggressive 
enough  in  looking  for  facts  and  making  explanations. 

It  was  after  he  had  grasped  the  general  doctrine  of 
ice  and  water  action  that  he  became  a  really  active  and 
interested  observer.  When  he  understood,  in  a  meas- 
ure, the  cause,  he  could  see  a  multitude  of  effects  all 
about  him,  which  otherwise  he  would  never  have  seen 
at  all;  and  he  became  even  in  the  course  of  half  a  day 
tolerably  expert  in  explaining  what  he  saw,  and  showed 
especially  a  very  striking  increase  in  his  power  of  obser- 
vation. Having  a  little  knowledge  of  the  probable  cause 
of  these  things  gave  him  second-sight. 


REASONING:    ILLUSTRATIONS  Hi* 

Without  help  he  would  have  been  helpless.  But  in 
what  would  I  have  been  better  off  than  he  in  the  presence 
of  the  problem  of  Lone  Rock,  if  I  had  not  first  had  sugges- 
tions from  others  such  as  I  gave  him?  There  lay  the 
hard  and  cold  and  homeless,  friendless  fact.  I  could 
probably  have  done  no  more  with  it  than  he.  It  is  quite 
likely  that  I  would  not  only  not  have  inferred  a  reason- 
able explanation,  but  would  not  even  have  sought  seri- 
ously for  one.  If  I  had  never  heard  of  the  glacial  period 
and  learned  something  of  ice  and  water  action  and  of  all 
the  consequences  that  these  involve,  I  would  have  stood 
before  the  big,  black  mystery  as  helpless  as  my  little  boy. 

The  most  important  lesson  that  was  driven  home  to 
him  that  day  so  that  it  may  stay  with  him  through  life, 
was  the  impression  that  everything  that  he  saw  about 
him  was  an  effect,  produced  by  some  cause  capable  of  pro- 
ducing it.  The  desire  to  explain  things  or  have  them 
explained — the  mind-hunger  for  truth — grew  apace  for 
half  a  day.  His  childish  powers  discovered  themselves — 
things  could  be  explained,  and  he  could  at  least  struggle 
with  such  problems  although  he  blundered. 


14*  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
REASONING:  A  LARGER  PROBLEM. 

Let  us  see  whether  the  world  at  large  and  the  best 
minds  in  it  have  a  more  direct  and  certain  way  of  reach- 
ing explanations  than  my  little  boy  and  I  had.  Take 
the  same  kind  of  problem  that  we  tried  to  solve  in  the 
creek-bed. 

Plowmen  had  picked  up  bits  of  native  copper  scores 
and  even  hundreds  of  miles  south  of  the  Lake  Superior 
copper-bearing  formations;  and  they  inferred  that  In- 
dians had  dropped  them  where  they  were  found.  The 
Indians  themselves  had  from  time  immemorial  caught 
fish"  and  gathered  wild  rice  on  the  thousands  of  lakes 
of  northern  Wisconsin  and  Minnesota,  without  perhaps 
even  wondering  at  their  existence  or  their  number.  That 
was  their  world.  They  neither  knew  nor  cared  whether 
there  might  be  fewer  lakes  of  different  character  in  the 
world  or  even  a  few  hundred  miles  from  where  they  lived. 

The  white  lumbermen  of  the  same  region  cut  the 
marsh  hay  off  the  myriad  swamps  for  winter  use  in  the 
logging  camps  knowing  and  caring  nothing  about  how 
the  country  came  to  be  a  land  of  swamps.  The  farm- 
ers and  especially  the  farmer  boys  of  Canada  and  the 
northern  part  of  the  United  States  have  gathered  the 


REASONING :    A    LARGER    PROBLEM  193 

stones  on  their  rocky  farms  and  have  built  them  into 
long  stone  walls  without  knowing  what  it  was  that  scat- 
tered them  so  mischievously.  They  thought  of  them 
only  as  a  perennial  cause  of  back-ache.  The  few  that 
did  stop  to  wonder  how  they  came  there  were  no  wiser 
at  the  last  than  at  the  first.  Limpid  lakes  with  no  out- 
let, scenery  that  ought  to  rouse  thought  in  any  man, 
farmer  or  poet  or  philosopher;  the  grooved  and  polished 
rocks,  clay  soils  and  bedded  gravels,  lakes  and  swamps 
and  ancient  beaches,  both  in  America  and  Europe,  sent 
up  their  mute  appeal  to  be  recognized  and  explained. 

But  the  human  mind,  that  wizard  of  the  universe, 
went  on  in  its  sordid  career  of  catching  fish  and  raising 
grain  and  herding  cattle  to  satisfy  the  stomach;  or  in- 
dulged in  the  semiglorious  task  of  spilling  blood  and 
compelling  others  to  do  its  bidding  and  its  labors.  No 
man  dreamed  that  all  these  things  were  due  to  one  great 
force  that  had  "worked  over"  the  face  of  the  northern 
earth.  How  could  they  imagine  that  things  so  different 
from  each  other  were  in  any  way  related?  It  is  not 
probable  that  anyone  ever  would  have  dreamed  that  won- 
derful truth  if  someone  had  not  at  some  time  and  some- 
where seen  the  cause  itself  at  work. 

If  a  little  boy  can  in  half  a  day,  with  the  help  of 
judicious  suggestion,  make  such  apparently  large  scien- 
tific strides,  why  did  it  take  the  intellect  of  Europe  all 
the  ages  until  the  first  half  of  the  nineteenth  century  to 
find  out  how  the  great  erratic  blocks  of  Alpine  rock  got 
across  the  valleys  of  the  Rhone  and  Aar  from  the  Alps  to 


194  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

the  slopes  and  even  summits  of  the  Jura  Mountains? 
It  is  so  easy  to  get  information  out  of  books,  and  to 
understand  what  we  are  told  that  we  marvel  at  the  world 
for  being  so  slow  in  finding  out  big  truths.  With  a  little 
suggestion  and  guidance  we  can  grasp  a  big  principle  and 
revel  in  its  consequences  even  in  half  a  day.  Why  should 
the  mind  of  the  world  be  so  dull  of  penetration  as  not 
to  get  even  a  glimpse  of  a  great  truth  until  ages  have 
rolled  away  and  whole  races  of  men  have  delved  in  and 
trodden  upon  and  lived  and  died  upon  and  been  buried 
in  the  mute,  magnificent  evidence  that  there  was  a  gla- 
cial period  in  the  world's  history? 

The  difference  is  all  due  to  the  fact  that  if  one  can 
see  the  cause  that  produces  a  thing  at  work  on  the  spot, 
or  has  seen  it  produce  similar  results  elsewhere,  or  has 
had  its  action  explained  to  him  so  that  he  gets  a  con- 
ception of  how  the  effects  were  produced,  the  mind  has 
an  extremely  easy  task  to  perform.  Time  and  patience 
and  industry  will  clear  up  all  the  facts.  The  theory  of 
how  the  effects  were  produced  throws  light  on  every  new 
fact  that  is  observed.  It  is  a  lamp  to  the  intellect;  it 
tilings  up  so  they  can  be  seen  and  then  explained. 
That  is  why  it  was  so  easy  for  me  to  investigate  the 
origin  of  Lone  Rock  and  help  a  little  boy  grasp  the  the- 
ory and  make  the  explanation  for  himself.  It  was  not 
a  stroke  of  genius;  it  was  only  applying  a  truth  which 
others  had  discovered. 

But  if  the  mind  has  never  in  any  way  been  made 
aware  of  the  cause  that  has  produced  the  results  that 


REASONING:    A    LARGER    PROBLEM  195 

are  noticed,  if  nothing  whatever  is  known  on  the  subject, 
how  can  it  even  begin  to  think  about  them  correctly? 
What  reason  could  man  have  given  himself  for  suppos- 
ing that  the  distribution  of  the  stray  bits  of  copper,  er- 
ratic rocks,  boulder  clays,  sands  and  silts,  the  ancient 
fresh  water  beaches  and  the  thousands  of  lakes  and 
swamps  of  the  cooler  temperate  zone  were  all  effects  of 
a  single  great  cause? 

Men  did  the  perfectly  natural  thing  with  all  these 
facts.  They  never  regarded  them  as  having  any  connec- 
tion with  one  another.  They  gave  the  most  reasonable 
explanation  for  each  kind  of  fact.  Plowmen  thought 
the  Indians  dropped  the  copper.  A  pious  or  even  an 
impious  farmer  might  suppose  that  the  devil  had  strewn 
the  stones  afield  for  the  discipline  or  annoyance  of  man- 
kind. The  smaller  facts  like  these  would  secure  atten- 
tion and  receive  each  its  own  separate  explanation.  But 
the  larger  facts  were  not  likely  to  be  seen  at  all.  The 
peculiar  distribution  of  lakes,  the  peculiar  soils  and  scen- 
ery would  not  even  be  regarded  as  peculiar  because  they 
are  so  extensive.  Our  vision  is  too  limited.  The  biggest 
facts  escape  our  notice  and  the  whole  magnificent  group 
of  facts  is  not  recognized  as  a  group  at  all.  When  each 
little  fact  has  received  an  explanation  of  its  own,  it  is 
less  likely  than  ever  that  we  shall  think  of  all  the  facts 
together  as  the  effects  of  one  cause. 

We  do  not  see  very  much  of  all  that  is  to  be  seen. 
But  what  we  do  actually  see  and  think  about  at  all  the 
mind  makes  an  effort  to  explain,  whether  with  the  help 


196  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

of  ice  and  water  action  or  of  demigods  and  devils.  In 
the  presence  of  facts  that  we  cannot  understand  we  are 
like  cattle — gaze  awhile  and  turn  away.  But  a  fact  that 
is  once  explained  has  perennial  interest  for  us,  even 
though  the  explanation  is  wrong,  because  it  wakens 
thought  in  us.  It  pipes  its  simple  little  tune  of  truth 
in  our  ears  until  we  feel  the  world  is  full  of  music.  The 
intellectual  hope  of  the  world  lies  in  the  fact  that  we 
are  prone  to  give  explanations.  If  we  were  more  care- 
ful in  seeking  them  and  less  ready  to  accept  the  easiest 
and  most  striking  one,  truth  would  make  much  more 
rapid  progress.  Now  let  us  see  how  the  world  ever 
came  to  hit  upon  the  glacial  theory  as  a  general  explana- 
tion of  all  the  facts  that  have  been  mentioned. 

Both  peasants  and  savants  of  Switzerland  were 
acquainted  with  the  glaciers.  Their  movements  and 
their  work  had  been  given  scientific  attention.  The 
problems  of  terminal  and  lateral  moraines  were  no  more 
difficult  than  that  of  talus  and  cliff  described  in  a  previ- 
ous chapter.  The  action  of  water  at  the  foot  of  the 
glacier  was  a  matter  of  direct  observation.  The  cause 
and  the  effects  were  there  together  and  could  be  observed 
in  close  connection.  The  ice  carried  the  boulders  and 
pushed  the  detritus  and  scored  the  rocks,  and  the  water 
worked  over  and  sorted  and  laid  down  the  sand  and  peb- 
bles. 

The  problem  of  the  Alpine  boulders  over  on  the 
Jura  Mountains  was  like  that  of  Lone  Rock.  They 
were  away  from  their  native  seat,  with  the  cause  of  their 


REASONING:    A    LARGER    PROBLEM  197 

removal  gone.  But  they  had  not  only  gone  down  hill 
but  up  again  on  the  other  side  of  the  valley.  Charpen- 
tier,  who  had  studied  the  alpine  glaciers  and  their  work 
in  carrying  and  pushing  rocks,  in  1834  expressed  the  be- 
lief that  those  stray  boulders  on  the  Jura  range  had  been 
carried  from  the  Alps  by  glaciers  which  once  extended 
across  the  intervening  valley.  This  was  a  bold  generali- 
zation. But  it  was  only  an  extension  of  a  force  already 
known  and  well  understood.  That  force  was  only  called 
upon  to  act  on  a  larger  scale  and  in  the  same  direction. 
Nothing  new  was  added  to  the  conception  of  a  glacier 
except  magnitude.  Effects,  the  cause  of  which  was  ab- 
sent, were  explained  by  inferring  a  cause  well  known  and 
producing  similar  effects  near  by. 

And  now  began  a  scientific  marvel  that  is  still,  over 
half  a  century  later,  unrolling  itself  before  the  eyes  of  a 
waking  and  wondering  world.  At  this  point  Louis 
Agassiz,  the  general izer,  became  interested.  He  ex- 
pressed the  belief  that  glaciers  had  not  only  crossed  the 
valleys,  but  that  ice  had  filled  those  valleys  and  covered 
the  foot-hills,  too,  that  the  whole  region  had  once  been 
ice-bound,  and  that  the  present  glaciers  of  the  Alps  are 
nothing  more  than  retreating  remnants.  The  evidence 
was  there  to  support  his  view.  Then  he  went  to  Scot- 
land, where  he  and  Buckland  studied  half  a  dozen  areas 
that  revealed  all  the  characteristic  evidence  of  glacial 
action. 

The  magic  key  that  unlocked  this  great  new  world 
of  glacial  geology  had  to  be  made  in  a  glacier  country. 


198  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

As  soon  as  the  effects  of  glacial  action  were  understood, 
and  when  once  it  was  known  that  those  effects  existed 
where  glaciers  no  longer  were,  ah!  then,  having  eyes, 
men  saw  the  evidence  that  they  had  blindly  trampled  on 
and  waddled  in  for  ages  without  knowing  that  it  existed. 

Now  we  know  that  not  only  Switzerland  and  Scot- 
land but  all  of  northern  Europe  and  Canada  and  the 
northern  United  States  and  our  western  ranges  are 
scarred  and  scored  and  written  over  and  over  like  a  pal- 
impsest with  layer  upon  layer  of  unmistakable  evidence 
of  former  glacial  action.  It  was  ice  that  covered  the 
north  temperate  zone  and  grooved  the  solid  rocks  and 
scattered  the  boulders  afield  and  sprinkled  the  bits  of 
copper  to  southward  and  plowed  out  the  lakes  and 
dammed  up  and  changed  the  river  courses  and  wiped  out 
scores  of  species  of  plants  and  animals  and  drove  others 
out  of  their  northern  homes  and  left  them  stranded 
on  the  temperate  mountain  tops;  that  pushed  up  the 
gravelly  hills  and  finally  melted  into  water  that  made 
the  great  lake  beaches  where  now  are  fields  of  waving 
grain. 

No  romance  can  be  written  that  would  be  more  fas- 
cinating to  a  thoughtful  student  than  the  marvellous 
history  of  glacial  geology.  In  the  short  time  since  Char- 
pentier  made  his  suggestion  a  whole  new  science  has  de- 
veloped. The  field  to  be  covered  is  so  vast,  and  the 
knowledge  already  wrought  out  so  comprehensive  that  it 
requires  years  of  training  to  make  an  expert  glacial  geol- 
ogist. 


REASONING  :   HOW  THE  MIND  STRUGGLES       199 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
REASONING:  HOW  THE  MIND  STRUGGLES  AFTER  A  TRUTH. 

The  brief  sketch  of  the  glacial  theory  given  in  the 
last  chapter  shows  how  sound  knowledge  actually  grows. 
It  was  chosen  as  an  illustration  because  the  subject  is 
recent,  its  history  short,  its  strides  have  been  enormous, 
because  it  has  explained  a  multitude  of  facts,  some  of 
which  all  men  can  see,  and  because  the  great  existing 
glaciers  of  Alaska  and  the  ice-fields  of  Greenland  and 
the  Antarctic  continent  are  yielding  and  will  yield  still 
more  important  scientific  knowledge  by  the  light  of  which 
to  interpret  the  evidence  where  ice  no  longer  exists. 

Before  the  cause  was  recognized,  most  of  the  facts 
were  not  recognized  at  all.  The  few  that  attracted  at- 
tention were  given,  each  its  separate  explanation.  In 
the  absence  of  the  true  cause,  how  could  the  mind  con- 
ceive of  any  connection  between  things  so  different  as 
parallel  grooves  in  the  solid  rock,  scattered  bits  of  copper, 
and  the  stranding  of  cold-temperate  species  of  plants 
and  animals  on  the  high  mountains  in  the  temperate 
regions  ?  No  amount  of  study  of  the  effects  would  avail ; 
it  would  not  be  known  what  effects  belonged  together. 
Until  the  cause  itself  could  be  seen  at  work,  there  could 
be  no  hope  of  seeing  the  effects  it  had  produced  in  regions 
where  it  was  no  longer  present. 


200  THE    ART    OF   STUDY 

It  was  not  only  the  common  people  who  did  not 
see  and  understand;  the  best  trained  scientific  investi- 
gators trampled  on  the  evidence  without  seeing  it.  Each 
little  shred  of  remarkable  evidence  that  was  seen,  was 
explained  by  some  cause  already  known.  When  one  is 
once  on  the  wrong  track  in  making  explanations,  they 
become  more  and  more  elaborate  and  complex,  like  the 
Ptolemaic  system  of  astronomy,  instead  of  more  simple 
and  straightforward.  It  is  only  when  the  mind  is  mov- 
ing toward  the  solid  ground  of  truth  that  explanations 
grow  more  and  more  simple  and  satisfactory;  and  the 
strangely  different  facts  are  all  brought  into  beautiful 
harmony. 

The  most  striking  effect  that  the  introduction  of 
the  glacial  theory  produced  was  that  it  enabled  men  to 
see.  As  soon  as  the  cause  was  understood  the  scenery 
of  the  old  glacial  region  was  viewed  through  new  eyes 
and  interpreted.  The  beaches  of  ancient  and  vast  fresh 
water  lakes  could  be  traced  where  before  there  were  only 
unmeaning  ridges ;  old  and  choked-up  river  courses  were 
traced  where  nothing  at  all  was  seen  before.  Wild  rice 
and  marsh  hay  and  fishing  and  duck-hunting  could  now 
be  seen  to  be  related  to  one  another  and  the  theory. 
The  great  mass  of  diverse  facts  becomes  a  web  of  circum- 
stantial evidence,  as  soon  as  the  cause  is  understood. 

When  a  small  boy  exclaims,  "Papa,  I  have  added 
three  numbers  together  and  the  sum  is  forty;  what  are 
the  numbers  ?"  he  knows  that  he  has  the  easy  end  of  the 
task  and  that  his  father  may  never  be  able  to  tell  what 


REASONING:    HOW  THE  MIND  STRUGGLES       201 

numbers  he  used.  Most  of  the  problems  of  nature  and 
of  life  are  presented  to  us  in  much  the  same  way.  Na- 
ture makes  the  combinations  and  then  usually  wipes  the 
slate,  leaving  nothing  but  the  results.  Our  task  is, — 
given  the  results,  to  find  the  causes;  given  the  answers, 
to  find  the  numbers  that  were  used.  Take,  for  example, 
this  simple  little  puzzle: 


"Never  did  I  rob  a  china  shop  or  steal  a  chop  in  the 
market,  but  one  day,  Dick,  his  chum,  Annie,  and  I  set 
out  on  a  marauding  expedition.  Dick  said  he  would 
lasso  us,  at  which  we  laughed,  but  it  made  my  heart 
wag  nervously.  Then  we  found  Flo  Marsh  and  Ella  Eoss 
in  idle  chat  engaged,  and  calling  Ella  and  Flo  toward 
us,  we  invited  them  to  go  with  us,  but  they  declined.  We 
berated  them  soundly,  as  Esau  berated  his  brother,  Flo 
sat  like  a  cherub  in  injured  innocence.  'Let's  stop  in 
here/  said  I,  'for  Hairy  Bell.'  'In  I  go,'  replied  Dick, 
but  he  soon  returned,  saying  he  feared  he  would  be  stung 
by  a  bee  or  an  asp.  'Oh,  ridiculous,'  I  cried,  "A  bee, 
tho'  venturesome,  may  not  sting  you,  and  anyway,  it  is 
said  to  bring  luck/  But  Dick,  crying  'Ou!'  nodded  his 
head  at  me  and  said,  Ttob,  Alf,  Ernest,  and  all  the  rest 
of  you,  I'm  going  home.'  * 

The  maker  of  the  puzzle  decided  to  bury  a  list  of 
famous  names,  and  wrote  out  a  more  or  less  sensible 
combination  of  words,  among  which  the  names  are  con- 
cealed. His  task  was  direct,  synthetic.  Anyone  able  to 


202  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

write  could  do  it  in  some  fashion.  He  would  not  even 
have  to  know  the  names  of  musical  composers  in  ad- 
vance. He  could  pick  them  at  random,  to  suit  his  de- 
sires, from  a  music  bock. 

The  task  of  the  guesser  is  of  an  entirely  different 
nature.  The  puzzle  is  very  simple  both  on  account  of 
its  nature  and  on  account  of  the  shallow  way  in  which 
the  names  are  "buried."  But  it  requires  some  skill  in 
dealing  with  such  things  and  some  knowledge  of  musical 
matters  even  to  make  a  beginning.  Without  these,  there 
is  no  way  to  start.  Suppose  one  is  not  acquainted  with 
the  names  involved.  How  can  he  recognize  them?  Un- 
der such  conditions  the  names  Beethoven,  Chopin,  Ros- 
sini, Wagner,  and  the  rest  could  never  be  discovered. 
Nor  is  it  an  easy  matter  to  appeal  to  books.  Perhaps 
that  particular  combination  of  names  could  not  be  found 
in  any  available  book  outside  of  a  biography  of  music. 
Even  with  the  latter  book,  it  would  require  very,  very 
long  study  to  pick  out  the  right  names  both  in  the  book 
and  in  the  puzzle  and  bring  them  together. 

Anyone  having  any  knowledge  of  music  can  pick 
out  the  names  readily,  because  Wagner  and  Beethoven 
are  names  that  he  would  surely  know.  But  we  are  work- 
ing now  under  the  supposition  that  the  guesser  does  not 
know  so  much  as  this.  Let  us  consider  the  puzzle  from 
the  latter  standpoint.  To  begin  with,  the  whole  popu- 
lation of  the  earth  might  read  the  puzzle  and  not  recog- 
nize that  it  is  one.  Telling  a  person  that  there  is  a 
puzzle  is  what  makes  a  guesser  out  of  him.  It  makes 


REASONING :   HOW  THE  MIND  STRUGGLES       203 

him  look  for  something.  But  even  then  he  would  be  at 
an  utter  loss.  To  get  him  started  at  all  it  would  be  nec- 
essary to  tell  him  what  kind  of  a  puzzle  it  is;  what  sort 
of  hidden  thing  he  must  look  for.  If  one  stops  to  think, 
it  is  easy  to  see  that  the  largest  and  hardest  part  of  the 
work  has  to  be  done  in  advance  in  order  to  make  even  a 
guesser  out  of  a  person.  A  little  reflection  on  so  sim- 
ple a  thing  will  lead  most  of  us  to  pass  milder  judg- 
ment on  the  "stupidity"  of  the  world  for  not  seeing  and 
learning  things  faster  and  reasoning  better. 

When  once  the  nature  of  the  problem  is  understood, 
the  mind  begins  to  feel  about  for  solid  footing.  It  seeks 
all  the  time  to  escape  from  the  attitude  of  guesser  and 
to  take  up  the  position  of  a  maker  of  the  puzzle.  Prob- 
ably the  first  step  will  be  the  assumption  that  the  names 
are  famous.  Here  at  the  very  outset  appeal  is  made 
to  a  probable  "general  truth"  in  order  to  get  at  particu- 
lar facts.  In  a  biography  of  music,  the  famous  names 
will  have  the  longest  biographies,  so  by  the  help  of  this 
general  assumption  the  guesser  will  know  in  advance 
which  names  to  pounce  upon.  The  mind  has  already 
departed  a  long  way  from  the  position  of  guesser.  It  is 
trying  now  to  be  a  maker  of  the  puzzle. 

But  it  will  require  skill  and  some  knowledge  of  good 
English  to  get  help  from  the  written  words.  Assuming 
the  guesser  has  some  skill  and  training  in  English,  he 
can  see  "indications."  When  he  reads  the  words  "my 
heart  wag  nervously,"  and  "a  bee,  tho'  venturesome,"  he 
will  make  a  careful  examination  as  surely  as  a  cat  will 


204  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

stalk  a  gopher-hole.  He  knows  those  expressions  are 
unusual  English,  and  will  look  in  those  connections  for 
the  names.  In  this  fashion  the  puzzle  is  solved.  The 
guesser  at  every  step  is  making  strenuous  efforts  to  equip 
himself  with  the  same  knowledge  that  the  maker  of  the 
puzzle  had;  then  he  can  see  what  is  in  the  puzzle. 

Take  a  simple  problem  in  algebra.  Suppose  a  stu- 
dent is  given  no  rule  to  go  by,  but  is  simply  told  to  fac- 
tor x2+2xy+y*.  He  must  know  a  good  deal  in  advance 
about  numbers,  quantities,  signs  and  factors  before  he 
can  do  anything  at  all  with  this  specific  problem.  If 
he  knows  that  it  is  a  product  the  facts  begin  to  look 
suggestive.  He  knows  that  x*  is  x  times  xy  and  y2  is  y 
times  y.  The  mind  would  instantly  try  in  some  way  to 
put  these  factors  together.  In  other  words,  the  student 
turns  himself  into  a  multiplier,  not  a  divider.  He  has 
a  theory  and  tries  it.  He  may  make  many  mistakes. 
But  he  would  follow  the  same  plan  with  variations  as  if 
that  were  the  fundamental  law  of  search.  Which  it  is. 
He  would  find  at  last  that  the  factors  are  (x+y)  (x-\-y) 
But  he  would  also  find  that  there  is  no  royal  road  to  the 
truth.  He  is  asked  to  analyze  a  product,  and  he  does 
it  by  a  series  of  efforts  at  synthesis,  at  putting  things 
together,  at  producing  the  product.  His  progress  would 
be  rapid  in  proportion  as  he  could  shift  his  position  from 
that  of  analyzer  to  that  of  combiner. 

Just  as  soon  as  this  one  problem  is  solved  he  can 
draw  a  general  truth  out  of  it.  The  sum  of  two  quanti- 
ties multiplied  by  itself,  equals  the  sum  of  their  squares 


REASONING :   HOW  THE  MIND  STRUGGLES       205 

plus  twice  the  product  of  the  quantities.  From  that  mo- 
ment he  is  a  deductive  philosopher.  He  is  in  possession 
of  a  general  principle  and  he  works  it  on  every  new  case 
as  savagely  as  if  he  were  the  worst  old  deductive  debater 
of  mediaeval  times.  This  example  has  furnished  him 
with  a  type.  Every  new  problem  is  treated  as  a  member 
of  a  class  of  problems  under  a  general  rule.  The  mind 
has  not  merely  discovered  a  new  fact.  It  has  opened 
up  a  whole  new  field  of  investigation.  Now  it  has  the 
power  to  recognize  products,  can  search  for  other  cases, 
and  treat  them  at  once  and  effectively  as  particular 
cases  under  an  established  rule. 

Now  let  us  recall  the  glacial  theory.  Ages  passed 
before  men  recognized  that  there  was  evidence  to  con- 
sider. A  few  remarkable  things  were  noticed,  but  nobody 
knew  what  they  were  evidence  of.  Men  gave  to  each  re- 
markable fact  a  separate  explanation  and  left  the  rest 
unobserved.  The  erratic  rocks  on  the  Jura  Mountains 
were  a  puzzle.  They  came  to  be  recognized  as  one,  and 
that  was  a  very  long  stride  toward  explanation.  When  a 
man  arose  who  knew  about  the  work  of  actual  glaciers 
and  also  knew  about  the  erratic  blocks  across  the  great 
valley,  and  thought  of  the  two  together,  then  science 
could  put  itself  in  the  position  of  one  knowing  the  cause 
and  thinking  of  it  as  still  acting.  Charpentier  extended 
glacial  action  to  regions  where  it  was  no  longer  at  work. 
Agassiz  made  another  generalization,  extended  the  prin- 
ciple over  vast  areas.  Now,  with  the  cause  known,  cer- 
tain things  were  always  seen  to  occur  in  combination. 


206  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

They  were  seen  because  they  were  to  be  expected,  if 
produced  by  such  a  cause.  Men  knew  there  was  some- 
thing to  look  for,  knew  what  it  was  like,  and  were  in  a 
mood  to  look  for  it.  That  is  why  glacial  geology  grew 
apace  in  so  short  a  time.  The  facts  could  be  explained 
by  the  new  cause  and  could  be  explained  in  no  other 
way.  The  mind  had  climbed  up  the  hill  and  could  now 
slide  down. 


REASONING :   RECOGNITION  OF  SIMILARITIES    207 


CHAPTER  XX. 

REASONING:  ITS  PROGRESS  DEPENDS  ON  RECOGNITION  OF 
SIMILARITIES. 

The  chances  are  all  against  anyone's  recognizing  a 
general  truth  or  law  at  a  hazard  by  merely  looking  at  facts 
one  at  a  time.  Nor  has  anyone  ever  made  much  intel- 
lectual progress  by  gathering  a  miscellaneous  lot  of  facts 
and  then  gazing  at  them.  He  might  gaze  thus  for  a  cen- 
tury, and  the  larger  his  heap  of  facts  became,  the  more 
confused  and  chaotic  it  would  be.  From  somewhere  and 
at  some  time  must  come  a  suggestion  of  some  kind  of 
connection  between  the  new  facts  and  facts  that  were 
known  before.  It  does  not  require  much  of  a  sugges- 
tion to  rouse  the  alert  and  sensitive  mind  into  activity. 
If  the  state  of  expectant  attention  is  well-developed  and 
chronic,  a  hint  may  be  enough  to  start  one  on  a  voyage 
of  discovery. 

A  little  reflection  upon  the  illustrations  used  in 
"previous  chapters  will  make  it  clear  that  our  progress  in 
reasoning  is  due  to  the  recognition  of  similarities  between 
things.  Direct  observation  upon  the  glaciers  assured 
men  that  certain  facts  always  occurred  together.  The 
relation  of  cause  and  effect  was  actually  observed.  Now 
our  minds  and  the  universe  are  so  constituted  that  we 


208  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

can  infer  the  whole  when  we  see  a  part.  If  we  know  that 
certain  things  always  occur  together,  then,  when  we  see 
part  of  the  facts,  we  infer  that  the  others  are  there  or 
were  there,  even  though  we  do  not  see  them.  The  men- 
tal process  amounts  to  this:  certain  things  have  always 
occurred  together  in  our  experience,  and  therefore  they 
will  occur  grouped  in  that  way  again. 

When  Charpentier  announced  that  glaciers  had  car- 
ried the  erratic  blocks  over  onto  the  Jura  slopes,  he  was 
merely  inferring  that  because  part  of  a  certain  group  of 
facts  was  before  him,  the  rest  must  have  been  there  at 
some  time.  We  feel  certain  that  the  relation  of  cause 
and  effect  is  constant.  If  we  have  seen  both  cause  and 
effect  before,  and  then  see  some  or  all  of  the  effects  again, 
we  feel  sure  that  the  cause  also  once  existed.  And  if 
we  see  a  cause  at  work  we  are  confident  that  the  effects 
are  there.  If  part  of  the  facts  are  missing  we  confidently 
hunt  for  them.  The  ingrained  belief  that  similar  effects 
are  produced  by  similar  causes  brings  about  the  organiza- 
tion of  our  knowledge  on  the  highest  plane  of  reasoning. 
The  magic  principle  of  association  binds  the  facts  to- 
gether with  an  unbreakable  cord.  Where  boulder  clay 
and  copper  drift  are  found,  moraines  and  grooves  in  the 
rocks  are  likely  to  be,  and  ice  must  have  been  at  some 
time.  The  mind  is  sure  that  its  fundamental  laws  of 
association  cannot  lead  it  far  astray. 

It  is  this  recognition  of  identity  that  makes  it  possi- 
blo  for  us  to  reach  out  into  the  unknown  and  explain 
new  facts  at  all.  The  far-reaching  similarities  of  na- 


REASONING :   RECOGNITION  OF  SIMILARITIES    209 

ture  make  possible  our  mental  groupings  of  facts  and 
give  us  intellectual  mastery.  The  power,  first  of  detect- 
ing similarities  and  then  of  looking  for  them  elsewhere, 
underlies  the  power  to  reason.  It  is  the  basis  of  the 
simplest  inferences  of  the  child,  and  of  the  most  subtle 
and  far-reaching  conclusions  of  the  trained  scientific  en- 
quirer. The  difference  lies  in  the  quality  and  thorough- 
ness of  the  process. 

And  this  association  must  always  be  found  between  a 
fact  that  is  already  known  and  one  that  is  new.  It  is 
extremely  unlikely  that  anyone  will  derive  much  valuable 
knowledge  merely  from  comparing  two  or  more  strange 
things  entirely  by  guess.  Step  by  step  each  new  fact 
is  assimilated  with  old  ones  already  known.  With  the 
addition  of  new  knowledge  the  old  conceptions  are  modi- 
fied, improved  and  enlarged.  The  theory  of  glacial  ac- 
tion is  very  different  now  from  what  it  was  sixty  years 
ago.  But  at  every  step,  each  new  fact  was  interpreted 
with  the  help  of  the  body  of  knowledge  already  on  hand. 

It  has  often  been  said  that  the  Greek  and  Eoman 
intellects  were  in  all  respects  the  equals  of  the  modern 
mind.  That  is  doubtless  true.  But  we  have  the  great  ad- 
vantage of  two  thousand  years  of  accumulated  knowl- 
edge. Human  power  depends  on  the  tools  it  has  to  work 
with.  Our  knowledge  is  vastly  greater  and  more  accurate 
than  theirs  was;  and  our  appliances  for  doing  work  are 
vastly  better  and  more  numerous. 

We  can  build  only  with  the  help  of  what  is  already 
known.  Every  new  act,  every  uttered  word  is  colored 


210  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

by  what  has  gone  before  in  the  life.  We  can  tell  from 
a  man's  talk  what  his  training  has  been;  from  his  fig- 
ures of  speech  where  he  came  from  and  with  what  sort 
of  work  he  has  always  busied  himself;  from  the  senti- 
ments he  expresses,  the  manner  of  his  moral  life  in  the 
past.  The  pupil  is  usually  a  disciple  of  his  teacher. 
The  son  generally  votes  as  his  father  voted.  We  think 
and  speak  and  act,  always  with  the  past  as  a  basis.  We 
cannot  cut  loose  from  past  knowledge  and  opinion,  and 
we  would  not  if  we  could.  For  it  provides  us  with  our 
only  possible  starting  points  of  thought. 

The  unscholarly  mind  has  no  settled  purpose  con- 
cerning its  facts.  There  is  no  guiding  principle,  no  gen- 
eral motive  in  the  thinking,  no  desire  to  place  each  fact 
in  its  right  relations  from  the  outset.  But  after  all-, 
as  the  wind  unwittingly  and  in  rude  fashion  separates 
the  dead  leaves  and  groups  them  in  hollows  and  fence 
corners  and  leaves  the  green  ones  in  groups  on  the  trees, 
so  the  inborn  laws  of  mental  action  tend  to  work  over 
and  reduce  to  order  the  chaotic  knowledge  that  tumbles 
hap-hazard  upon  the  attention  of  the  individual.  He 
neither  seeks  facts  systematically  nor  takes  care  of  them 
after  they  come  to  him.  But  slowly  out  of  the  chaos 
there  grows,  without  his  effort,  a  crude  system  of  thought. 

Some  people  have  this  feeling  for  mental  order  more 
strongly  developed  than  others.  Their  minds  instinct- 
ively recognize  similarities  without  ever  consciously  for- 
mulating what  they  do.  They  become  fairly  good  spell- 
ers, even  though  they  never  learned  the  rules  of  spelling. 


REASONING :   RECOGNITION  OF  SIMILARITIES    211 

They  cannot  tell  why  it  is  so;  but  it  is  because  they  have 
a  strong  feeling  for  similarities.  They  seem  to  act  ac- 
cording to  general  rules  that  they  never  learned  nor 
consciously  stated  to  themselves.  Even  in  the  unschol- 
arly  mind  the  laws  of  thought  keep  chaos  at  bay  by 
grouping  facts  according  to  their  similarities  and  slowly 
working  out  explanations.  But  it  is  the  student's  ac- 
knowledged business  to  attend  consciously  and  purposely 
to  this  matter,  and  reduce  his  knowledge,  so  far  as  lies 
in  his  power,  by  reasoning  about  it  as  fast  as  he  accumu- 
lates it. 

A  vast  body  of  human  knowledge,  much  of  the  most 
important  that  we  guide  our  lives  by,  is  only  dimly  un- 
derstood or  wholly  unexplained.  Many  of  the  old  prov- 
erbs told  truths  that  experience  had  found  to  be  so,  but 
which  were  not  comprehended.  The  connection  between 
the  tides  and  the  moon  was  observed  without  any  knowl- 
edge of  gravitation.  The  causal  relation  between  a  low- 
ering morning  and  a  rainy  day  needed  not  be  understood 
at  all  to  make  the  knowledge  practically  effective.  The 
modern  weather  bureau  can  give  reasons  and  make  more 
accurate  predictions,  but  the  value  of  the  original  obser- 
vation cannot  be  belittled. 

Such  knowledge  as  that  described  above  is  empirical. 
It  has  value,  but  is  unexplained.  The  first  knowledge 
of  each  individual  and  the  earliest  and  most  important 
practical  knowledge  of  the  race  was  of  this  kind.  Cer- 
tain connections  between  facts  were  observed,  as  that  fire 
hardens  brick  as  well  as  wooden  spear-points.  But  no 


212  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

attempt  was  made,  nor  is  any  attempt  usually  made  even 
now  to  give  a  scientific  explanation  of  tEe  process.  For 
practical  purposes  it  is  not  necessary.  The  bulk  of  hu- 
manity live?  by  the  light  of  such  empirical  knowledge. 

Quinine  has  long  been  known  to  be  a  specific  for 
malaria ;  and  suffering  humanity  has  gratefully  swallowed 
the  bitter  medicine  without  knowing  why  it  produces  its 
effects.  Physicians  understood  it  no  better  than  the 
burning  and  shivering  victim.  But  humanity,  not  know- 
ing the  cause  of  the  disease,  took  the  medicine,  went 
straightway  and  laid  itself  down  where  the  infection  con- 
tinued its  deadly  work.  Pitiful  sight,  in  the  light  of 
recent  science.  Now  what  has  happened?  Reason,  the 
piercing  weapon  of  scientific  investigation,  has  solved  the 
mystery.  Science  had  done  what  it  could  to  study  the 
disease  after  the  victim  was  sick.  Much  was  known  about 
the  stages  of  the  disease  and  the  changes  in  the  blood 
that  were  due  to  the  infection.  N"ow  the  cause  is  known. 
Malaria  is  due  to  a  parasite  that  passes  through  part 
of  its  development  in  man  and  part  in  certain  species 
of  mosquito.  The  disease  is  transmitted  from  an  old 
to  a  new  victim  by  the  mosquito. 

Quinine  is  still  valuable.  But  the  guilty  mosquitos 
(genus  Anopheles)  exist  wherever  there  is  malaria;  and 
now  that  the  causal  relations  of  the  disease  are  under- 
stood, prevention  is  likely  to  outdo  the  business  of  curing 
malaria.  Mosquito-breeding  rain-barrels,  pools  of  stag- 
nant water,  and  swamps  are  receiving  attention  now. 
Systematic  withdrawal  at  nightfall  into  mosquito-proof 


REASONING :    RECOGNITION  OF  SIMILARITIES    213 

houses  by  itself  will  secure  human  beings  against  malaria 
in  the  deadly  Campagna  near  Rome.  A  thin  sheet  of 
petroleum  floating  on  a  water-surface  closes  the  breath- 
ing pores  of  the  mosquito  larvae  and  kills  them  before 
they  leave  the  water.  Drainage  of  standing  pools  and 
swamps  removes  mosquitos  and  malaria  at  a  single  stroke. 

The  former  scraps  of  empirical  knowledge  on  the 
subject  seem  almost  contemptible  now.  The  new  truth 
not  merely  adds  knowledge  to  the  old.  It  explains  what 
was  known  and  changes  the  whole  point  of  view.  Now 
the  world's  knowledge  of  malaria  is  rational.  It  under- 
stands the  causal  relations.  Man  or  mosquito  must  con- 
quer, because  the  enemy  is  in  sight;  there  will  be  no 
more  "shelling  the  woods."  And  the  chances  are  all 
against  the  mosquito.  Its  power  will  be  badly  crippled 
if  it  cannot  be  destroyed.  Knowledge  of  the  subject  is 
now  of  a  different  kind. 

What  has  been  done  for  malaria  has  been  done  for 
yellow  fever.  The  mosquito  is  guilty.  Hitherto,  men 
have  spent  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars  disinfecting 
persons  and  clothing  and  ships.  They  labored  blindly, 
because  there  was  no  rational  knowledge  of  the  disease. 
The  facts  were  not  explained  till  their  cause  was  known. 
And  in  assailing  the  problem  of  yellow  fever,  science  used 
the  new  knowledge  about  malaria.  The  light  of  one  new 
truth  leads  to  others  like  it.  The  bond  of  similarity 
made  possible  the  extension  of  rational  knowledge  to  a 
new  subject. 

In  the  progress  of  the  individual  mind,  as  well  as  in 


214  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

the  experience  of  the  race,  empirical,  unexplained  knowl- 
edge, must  give  place  to  rational  knowledge.  The  causal 
relations  of  facts  to  each  other  must  be  understood  and 
expressed  in  general  principles.  This  transformation 
of  partial,  accidental,  but  valuable  knowledge  into  ra- 
tional and  thoroughly  organized  knowledge,  goes  on  as 
long  as  there  is  mental  progress  in  the  individual  or  the 
race.  When  it  ceases,  growth  is  at  an  end.  The  thinker 
drops  back  to  the  level  of  the  animal  and  the  creature  of 
habit. 

It  is  a  vital  concern  of  the  student  to  keep  up  stead- 
ily the  process  of  reducing  his  knowledge  to  a  rational 
state,  in  which  all  the  facts  are  brought  into  their  true 
relations  with  each  other.  The  constant  temptation  of 
living  things  is  to  become  parasites.  Even  the  eagle  is 
willing  to  let  the  hawk  catch  the  fish  and  then  help  him- 
self to  it.  The  quickest  and  largest  results  with  the  least 
effort  is  a  guide  of  life  to  which  students,  like  all  others, 
fall  victims.  Accepting  information  ready-made,  ox- 
plained,  organized  under  principles,  and  applied,  is  fol- 
lowing the  line?  of  least  resistnnn-.  Originality,  the  spirit 
of  research,  deciphering  the  hidden  meaning  of  thir. 
following  the  lines  of  greatest  resistance.  But  the  two 
mot  hods  do  not  result  merely  in  a  different  quantity  of 
knowledge:  the  latter  produces  an  entirely  different  kind. 

We  cannot,  of  course,  free  ourselves  from  the  work 
that  others  have  done  before  us,  and  the  opinions  they 
have  held.  While  we  profit  by  them  abundantly,  we  are 
also  in  a  real  sense  their  slaves.  And  with  so  great  a 


REASONING  :   RECOGNITION  OF  SIMILARITIES    215 

mass  of  knowledge  and  opinion  ready-made,  we  are  very 
prone  to  accept  them  without  a  serious  review  of  their 
value.  The  structure  of  knowledge  and  opinion  that  has 
been  reared  by  humanity  is  a  mighty  heritage  of  intel- 
lectual strength  transmitted  to  us.  But  every  student, 
to  save  his  intellectual  manhood,  must  hold  both  fact  and 
opinion  at  arm's  length  long  enough  to  examine  it  care- 
fully and  determine  its  value  to  him. 

Lessing,  in  a  hot  religious  debate,  said  more  than  a 
hundred  years  ago,  "If  God  held  in  His  right  hand  all 
truth  and  in  his  left  the  lone  but  ever  active  desire  for 
truth,  though  coupled  with  the  condition  that  I  should 
keep  forever  falling  into  error,  and  should  say  to  me, 
'Choose/  I  should  seize  his  left  hand  and  say,  'Father, 
give,  pure  truth  is  after  all  only  for  thee  alone/  "  The 
question  with  us  all  finally  narrows  itself  to  this:  Shall 
we  accept  our  opinions  and  facts  in  bulk  on  the  authority 
of  others,  or  shall  we  be  habitual  searchers  after  truth 
under  the  constant  liability  and  fear  of  making  mistakes? 

The  test  of  the  student's  strength  is  the  amount  of 
independent  energy  with  which  he  throws  his  reasoning 
powers  upon  the  problems  that  are  presented  to  him.  If 
the  subject  to  be  studied  is  the  arterial  system  of  a  mam- 
mal, and  the  place  is  a  laboratory,  and  the  teacher  says, 
"Catch  a  live  cat  and  work  out  its  arterial  system,"  and 
then  puts  his  feet  on  the  table  and  reads  the  report  of 
the  latest  dog-show,  the  student  has  just  cause  for  com- 
plaint, because  there  is  none  of  the  preliminary  sug- 
gestion without  which  none  of  us  can  make  a  start.  If, 


216  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

on  the  other  hand,  all  the  preliminary  work  is  done  for 
the  student,  which  is  often  easier  for  the  teacher,  and  he 
is  provided  with  a  book  that  gives  detailed  directions  for 
every  step,  the  student  will  be  so  perfectly  guided  that 
the  faint  impulses  to  originality  are  smothered.  If  ev- 
ery branch  of  the  arterial  system  is  described,  its  course 
explained,  and  even  what  to  cut  and  what  not  to  cut  is 
carefully  told  in  detail,  the  net  result  of  a  day's  work, 
even  for  a  good  student,  is  likely  to  be  the  summing  up : 
"Yes,  it  is  just  as  the  book  says/'  Then  he  "goeth  his 
way,  and  straightway  forgetteth." 

It  is  initial  ignorance  of  where  to  look  and  how  to 
take  the  preliminary  steps  that  kills  progress  and  the  de- 
sire for  it.  But  if  the  student  is  shown  how  to  prepare 
the  animal  without  destroying  the  very  parts  he  is  to 
study,  and  has  the  aorta  pointed  out  to  him,  all  the  rest 
should  be  within  his  reach.  If  left  to  himself,  he  would 
have  to  use  his  reason  as  well  as  his  scalpel  in  finding  the 
branches,  at  every  touch  of  the  knife,  at  every  clip  of  the 
scissors.  When  he  had  finished  he  might  not  be  able 
to  give  the  names  of  all  the  parts ;  but  he  would  know  his 
subject  so  well  that  if  it  were  necessary  he  could  give  good 
names  to  them  himself.  Instead  of  forgetting  what  he 
had  done,  there  would  be  an  imperishable  addition  to  his 
knowledge  because  there  was  lively  reasoning  at  its  birth. 
Work  thus  done  is  valuable  because  it  is  transfused  with 
thought.  The  slavery,  parasitism,  intellectual  degenera- 
tion is  due  to  constant  assistance.  Without  it,  only  half 
as  much  work  may  be  done,  but  the  results  will  be  ten- 


REASONING :   RECOGNITION  OF  SIMILARITIES    217 

fold  more  valuable;  and  a  hundredfold  more  intellectual 
power  is  developed  if  the  student  works  out  the  problem 
with  his  own  head  as  well  as  with  his  own  hands.  It  is 
hard  at  first.  But  after  a  little  the  joy  of  working  grows 
and  there  is  a  glow  of  feeling  that  drives  the  hands  and 
the  head  to  success.  Error  and  failure  become  only  in- 
cidents. 

This  method  is  difficult  to  apply,  but  its  fruit  is 
easily  recognized.  It  alone  can  give  the  student  the  last- 
ing impression  that  everything— -every  word  in  a  sentence, 
every  letter  in  a  word,  the  shape  and  size  and  place  of 
every  pebble,  every  sound  of  nature,  every  shade  of  color 
in  every  flower's  petals,  every  tint  in  the  ever-changing 
sky — is  full  of  significance,  is  a  record  of  forces  that  have 
been  and  are  still  at  work.  The  mind  early  loses  its  art- 
less inquisitiveness,  and  falls  into  the  dull  routine  of 
habit,  unless  it  is  kept  awake  by  the  process  of  real,  per- 
sonal investigation. 

One  of  the  most  permanent  convictions  imbedded  in 
great  productive  minds,  in  all  fields  of  learning,  is  this, 
that  all  things  need  to  be  explained  and  that  sooner  or 
later  explanations  can  be  given.  Darwin  and  Tyndall, 
Faraday  and  Von  Baer  and  all  their  kind  were  alive  with 
the  feeling  that  all  the  facts  around  them  were  written 
records,  that  they  had  a  truth  to  tell  which  could  be  in- 
terpreted by  whoever  had  eyes  to  see.  Such  men  trained 
their  great  powers  on  thousands  of  little  things  which 
others  had  seen  before  them  but  had  not  tried  to  under- 
stand. This  intense  sensitiveness  to  the  lisping,  whisper- 


218  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

ing,  truth-telling  and  truth-concealing  nature  about  us 
is  a  great  gift,  and  intellectual  success  is  measured  by 
the  degree  to  which  it  is  cultivated.  The  senses  grow 
keen  by  constant  use,  there  is  no  other  way  of  training 
them.  And  the  mind  grows  sensitive  to  truth  by  work- 
ing on  it. 


FURTHER  CONDITIONS  OF  SOUND  REASONING    219 


CHAPTER  XXL 

SOME  FURTHER  CONDITIONS  OF  SOUND  REASONING. 

No  effort  has  been  spared  to  make  the  fact  impressive 
that  mere  reasoning  does  not  make  one  an  intellectual 
success.  Some  very  important  conditions  have  to  be  con- 
sidered, on  which  the  quality  of  one's  reasoning  depends. 

Nature  and  life  are  so  constituted  that  there  is  cer- 
tainty nowhere.  We  are  obliged  to  act  confidently  upon 
probability.  He  who  keeps  himself  in  a  state  of  doubt 
till  he  knows  all  the  facts,  whether  in  school  or  in  busi- 
ness, will  never  do  anything  but  sit, and  wait  and  be  mis- 
erable. It  is  absolutely  necessary  to  act  upon  partial 
knowledge,  so  there  is  always  risk  connected  with  every 
decision.  But  that  is  what  constitutes  the  spice  of  life. 
We  must  place  confidence  in  the  law  of  our  mind  which 
says  that  what  has  been  true  once  will  be  true  again 
under  similar  circumstances.  But  we  can  never  be  sure 
that  the  circumstances  are  exactly  similar. 

Therefore  as  long  as  the  human  mind  continues  to 
grow  in  power,  and  its  knowledge  continues  to  grow  in 
perfection,  there  must  constantly  be  readjustment.  The 
mind  not  only  has  to  work  over  and  organize  its  knowledge 
into  consistent  beliefs  and  opinions,  but  must  constantly 
reorganize  it.  Knowledge  that  seemed  perfect  and  com- 


220  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

plete  yesterday,  will  seem  utterly  inadequate  and  poor  to- 
morrow. But  this  is  no  mark  of  human  weakness.  It 
is  a  sign  of  growing  strength,  of  new  and  better  knowl- 
edge. It  is  only  a  proof  of  Bagehot's  profound  remark 
that  "the  price  of  improvement  is  that  the  unimproved 
shall  always  look  degraded." 

Progress  toward  truth  is  very  slow.  It  is  an  easy 
matter  to  draw  inferences,  but  the  law  of  our  thought, 
that  what  is  true  of  one  thing  is  true  of  every  other  that 
is  like  it,  is  dangerous,  because  we  are  so  far  away  from 
the  facts.  We  have  to  reason  so  much  about  things  we 
cannot  actually  see  or  investigate,  that  the  more  sweep- 
ing our  inferences  are  the  more  likely  they  are  to  be 
wrong.  There  may  somewhere  be  a  break  of  continuity 
among  the  facts  of  which  we  are  not  and  cannot  be  aware. 

A  little  study  of  logic  is  likely  to  make  one  feel  that 
he  can  reason  his  way  straight  from  common  ignorance 
to  the  profoundest  truth. 

"Now,  Huxley  from  one  bone  could  make 
An  unknown  beast;  so  if  I  take 
This  spout  of  water,  and  from  thence 
Construct  a  whale  by  inference, 
A  whale,  I  venture  to  assert, 
Must  be  an  animated  squirt ! 
Thus,  children,  we  the  truth  may  sift 
By  use  of  logic's  priceless  gift." 

This  ridiculous  view  of  logic  is  not  so  serious  an  ex- 
aggeration of  the  facts  as  it  may  seem.  We  expect  logic 


FURTHER  CONDITIONS  OF  SOUND  REASONING    221 

to  do  things  for  which  it  was  never  intended.  It  is  like 
a  fanning  mill ;  what  was  not  put  in  the  hopper  will  not 
come  out  of  the  mill,  no  matter  how  hard  the  fans  are 
made  to  blow. 

I  once  taught  geography  to  a  young  boy  who  did  not 
care  for  geography  or  any  other  study.  He  was  bright; 
so  at  last,  in  my  despair,  I  told  him,  as  a  test  of  his  think- 
ing power,  that  I  would  give  him  five  minutes  to  tell  me 
where  all  the  large  cities  of  Ireland  were.  He  came  back 
before  his  time  was  up  and  not  only  told  me  they  were 
all  on  the  coast,  but  told  me  the  reason  why.  They 
formed  the  working  joints  of  commerce  between  Ireland 
and  the  rest  of  the  world.  He  felt  like  a  master  then. 
I  gave  him  the  United  States  to  study,  and  he  explained 
the  locations  of  the  big  coast  cities.  With  the  help  of 
a  gentle  hint  he  was  able  to  point  out  the  head  of  navi- 
gation on  many  of  the  principal  rivers.  But  the  problem 
of  American  cities  after  a  while  became  so  complex  that 
he  almost  lost  sight  of  his  original  "great  truth"  and  had 
to  invent  a  variety  of  explanations.  The  farther  he  went 
the  more  apparent  it  became  to  him  that  simple  reason- 
ing from  his  first  discovered  truth  would  not  carry  him 
through  his  task.  A  wide  knowledge  of  geographical  and 
commercial  conditions  was  necessary  to  an  understanding 
of  the  location  of  many  American  cities.  Sagacity,  the 
mental  quality  which  distinguishes  the  wise  man  from 
both  the  fool  and  the  logical  machine,  is  a  prime  requisite 
in  reaching  truth. 

I  have  tried  before  to  show  that  merely  telling  a 


222  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

thing  does  not  make  it  a  permanent  piece  of  knowledge 
for  the  hearer.  It  is  then  nearly  always  forgotten.  It 
must  be  experienced.  One  may  tell  a  child  a  hundred 
times  that  a  hot  stove  will  hurt.  It  knows  the  fact,  but 
the  fact  is  unimpressive.  It  must  touch  the  stove ;  then 
the  fact  is  burned  into  its  mind  as  well  as  onto  its  hand. 
Thenceforth  the  child  can  reason  very  accurately.  "Hot 
stoves  burn ;  this  stove  is  hot ;  therefore  it  will  burn,"  is 
unassailable  logic.  Animal  safety  depends  on  the  power 
to  avoid  repeated  accidents. 

We  give  no  special  credit  for  ability  to  reason  in 
this  way.  The  power  is  common  to  men  and  animals,  and 
it  saves  much  misery.  But  the  moment  the  facts  become 
a  little  different,  or  slightly  complicated,  most  men  be- 
come absolutely  helpless.  If  we  could  always  tread  on 
the  ground  of  absolute  certainty  there  would  be  no  dis- 
tinction between  the  wise  man  and  the  fool.  But  since 
we  cannot,  caution  and  discrimination  in  forming  conclu- 
sions distinguish  the  former  from  the  latter.  The  lan- 
guage is  full  of  names,  ill-defined  but  familiar,  for  the 
mental  characteristic  that  distinguishes  the  two  kinds  of 
men.  Judgment,  sagacity,  common  sense,  wisdom,  ex- 
press from  different  points  of  view  and  in  different  degrees 
the  fact  that  so-called  reasoning  alone  is  about  as  likely 
to  lead  into  error  as  into  the  truth,  to  accident  as  to 
safety. 

All  normal  men  and  women  know  that  a  blazing  lamp 
will  set  a  house  on  fire.  They  reason  quickly  and  cor- 
rectly. But  the  vast  majority  of  them  who  try  to  carry 


FURTHER  CONDITIONS  OF  SOUND  REASONING    223 

exploded,  blazing  lamps  outdoors  burn  themselves  badly 
and  often  burn  themselves  to  death.  The  infinite  pity 
of  it  all  is  that  sagacity  often  plays  no  part  at  all  on  the 
stage  of  life  with  heroism  and  sacrifice  for  others.  If, 
instead  of  running  with  the  blazing  lamps  in  front  of 
them,  the  flames  fairly  licking  off  their  clothing,  they 
merely  turned  around  and  backed  out,  so  that  the  blaze 
and  heat  would  move  away  from  them,  they  could  accom- 
plish all  that  their  splendid  courage  inspires  them  to  do, 
without  suffering  such  fearful  fatal  consequences  to  them- 
selves. 

Faraday,  the  great  physicist,  said  that  the  greatest 
weakness  in  scientific  men  is  deficiency  of  judgment.  He 
meant  this  to  apply  in  matters  in  which  those  men  should 
be  expert.  In  the  long  run  the  difference  between  theory 
and  practice,  failure  and  success,  unsound  and  sound  rea- 
soning, folly  and  wisdom,  is  due  to  the  presence  of  good 
judgment,  sagacity,  in  selecting  the  right  facts  to  reason 
upon.  Every  step  of  a  logical  process  may  be  absolutely 
correct  and  the  conclusion  be  utterly  false,  because  only 
part  of  the  facts,  or  only  the  least  important,  have  been 
used  in  making  the  inferences.  Good  judgment  is  the 
ability  to  weigh  all  the  facts,  give  each  its  proper  influ- 
ence and  draw  right  conclusions.  What  is  true  in  this 
respect  of  scientific  reasoning  is  true  in  the  reasoning  of 
common  life. 

One  may  understand  a  general  principle  perfectly, 
and  even  be  familiar  with  many  of  its  applications  in 
science  and  practical  life.  But  that  is  no  guarantee  that 


224  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

in  a  new  or  hitherto  unthought-of  combination  of  cir- 
cumstances the  application  of  the  principle  will  be  real- 
ized. A  student  of  physics  may  work  for  weeks  on  the 
theory  of  the  expansion  of  gases,  prove  the  truth  over 
and  over  that  gases  expand  on  the  application  of  heat. 
But  it  is  not  at  all  unlikely  that  he  will  ride  home  from 
his  experiments  and  lean  his  bicycle  against  the  house  in 
the  sunniest  and  hottest  corner.  When  he  comes  out 
again  he  finds  a  tire  exploded. 

He  can  quickly  reach  the  correct  conclusion  about 
the  cause;  for  he  has  a  great  advantage  over  others. 
His  training  in  physics,  while  it  played  him  false  in  the 
matter  of  foresight,  has  developed  a  quick  and  accurate 
hindsight  or  power  of  explanation.  Air  in  the  tire  and 
heat  in  the  corner:  gas,  heat,  expansion,  explosion. 
Scholarly  theory  and  practical  fact  seem  so  far  apart  and 
yet  so  near.  Foresight,  sagacity,  judgment,  common 
sense,  are  apparently  set  at  naught  by  such  an  act.  A 
young  physicist  ought  to  know  better.  But  he  is  not 
very  different  from  the  most  of  us.  His  training  makes 
the  new  experience  much  more  valuable  to  him  than  it 
would  be  to  others.  If  his  mind  is  something  more  than 
a  dumping  ground  for  facts,  the  experience  startles  him 
into  mental  activity  on  the  subject  in  an  entirely  new 
field — the  practical  side. 

In  a  general  way  it  may  be  said  that  human  thinking 
is  defective  chiefly  from  the  failure  to  consider  all  the 
facts  that  apply  to  the  case  in  hand.  Most  of  our  opin- 
ions of  men  in  both  their  public  and  private  relations, 


FURTHER  CONDITIONS  OF  SOUND  REASONING    225 

most  of  our  conclusions  in  the  fields  of  scholarship  and 
practical  life  are  faulty  because,  through  ignorance  or 
prejudice  or  indolence  or  carelessness  we  fail  to  take  into 
account  all  the  facts  that  ought  to  be  considered.  This 
curse  rests  heavily,  not  only  on  the  masses  of  men,  but 
upon  well-trained  men  as  well. 

The  neglect  of  a  single  condition  may  produce  utter 
failure,  even  though  all  other  things  are  carefully  at- 
tended to.  I  once  saw  a  boy  undertake  to  noose  a  lizard 
with  a  noose  made  of  a  spear  of  grass.  It  was  apparent 
enough  by  the  way  he  went  about  it  that  he  had  often 
caught  lizards  before.  The  lizard  only  blinked  and 
waited ;  the  noose  was  properly  made,  and  went  easily  over 
its  head,  and  the  loop  closed  around  its  neck.  But  the 
animal  darted  away  almost  without  a  struggle.  The  boy 
had  used  a  spear  of  grass  that  was  just  a  little  too  dry, 
in  bending,  it  broke  a  little  too  completely  at  one  place 
and  held  together  only  by  the  outer  skin.  When  the 
lizard  jumped  it  snapped.  Failure  is  so  characteristic 
of  human  activity  because  the  neglect  of  an  apparently 
unimportant  little  factor  can  mar  the  whole  result  of 
long  and  cautious  effort. 

Even  when  our  judgments  do  not  lead  to  utter  fail- 
ure, they  may  be  so  burdened  with  error  as  to  be  prac- 
tically valueless  for  future  use.  There  was  a  time  when 
it  was  thought  that  pacing  off  distances  was  accurate 
enough  a  mode  of  measurement  to  use  in  determining 
latitude.  Now  the  most  accurate  instruments,  thor- 
oughly trained  observers,  carefully  chosen  places  for  obser- 


226  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

vation  and  measurement,  and  endless  repetition  of  the 
observations  are  all  brought  to  bear  upon  the  subject, 
in  order  to  eliminate,  as  far  as  possible,  every  source  of 
error  in  the  determination  of  latitude.  What  may  seem 
to  be  fairly  well-done  and  satisfactory  to-day  is  worthless 
to-morrow.  Results  of  every  kind  can  be  made  perma- 
nently satisfactory  only  by  the  most  careful  elimination 
of  all  possible  sources  of  error. 

But  the  elimination  of  error  from  our  thinking  is  no 
easy  matter.  It  is  not  only  by  using  more  accurate  in- 
struments but  by  the  development  of  infinite  patience  in 
the  individual  character  that  it  becomes  possible  to  hunt 
down  the  minor  and  hidden  errors  that  vitiate  human 
thought. 

First  we  make  mistakes  on  a  large  scale  because  we  do 
not  recognize  the  likenesses  between  things  that  look  radi- 
cally different.  We  fail  to  get  hold  of  the  real  greatness 
of  a  truth  because  we  fail  to  perceive  the  likenesses  be- 
tween the  two  extremes  of  a  series  of  similar  things.  We 
do  not  see,  we  have  to  be  taught  that  the  burning  of  a 
straw-heap  and  the  rusting  of  a  plow-share  are  the  same 
process  of  oxidation  and  that  the  vast  apparent  differ- 
ence is  due  to  the  fact  that  the  one  is  slower  than  tho 
other.  The  power  to  penetrate  below  the  differences 
and  recognize  the  likenesses  is  given  only  to  him  who  is 
willing  to  serve  a  long  apprenticeship  in  the  search  for 
truth. 

At  the  other  extreme  is  the  constant  danger  of  error 
due  to  neglect  of  minor  differences.  Charles  Darwin 


THE  \ 

UN5V£H3ITY    1 


FURTHER  CONDITIONS  OF  SOUND  REASONING    227 

wanted  to  find  out  once  which  of  two  sets  of  plants  on 
which  he  was  experimenting  produced  the  more  seed.  Or- 
dinarily it  would  seem  sufficient  to  examine  a  few  cases, 
because  anything  but  a  slight  difference  would  be  easily 
discovered.  But  he  was  dealing  with  small  differences, 
and  it  was  very  important  that  there  should  be  no  mis- 
take. So  he  deliberately  counted  twenty  thousand  seeds 
under  a  microscope  before  he  regarded  the  question  as 
settled.  He  spent  a  life-time  doing  work  that  way  ;  and 
the  reason  why  his  work  has  lasted  so  well  is  because  he 
pursued  every  little  question  until,  by  his  merciless  ex- 
haustiveness,  he  had  fairly  proved  the  view  that  he  finally 
held. 

The  ability  to  see  facts  clearly  and  to  appreciate  dif- 
ferences commonly  neglected  comes  only  from  long  prac- 
tice in  looking  for  them.  In  the  course  of  time  a  keen- 
ness of  mental  vision,  a  sharpness  of  observation,  is  devel- 
oped which  would  astonish  the  student  who  is  only  begin- 
ning his  training. 

The  openings  to  any  new  line  of  thought  are  likely 
to  be  small.  What  many  people  never  see  at  all,  are 
pounced  upon  as  indications  by  more  observing  men; 
and  these  little  whispering  suggestions  may  lead  the  mind 
into  a  great  new  field  of  thought.  Any  untrained  mind 
can  remember,  perforce,  that  in  a  certain  year  there  was 
a  heavy  rainfall  in  California.  The  facts  were  great  and 
striking.  Wind  and  falling  sheets  of  water  were  spectacu- 
lar. The  softened  ground  let  go  the  roots  and  trees  both 
big  and  little  leaned  over  as  in  weariness.  Even  a  stupid, 


228  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

garrulous  crone  can  repeat  the  story  in  the  years  to  come. 
But  that  rain  has  left  a  record  that  stupidity  never  reads. 
It  not  only  left  its  record  on  the  account  books  of  the 
people,  but  wrote  the  story  secretly  around  the  heart  of 
every  tree  that  was  growing  that  year. 

The  tongue  of  the  untrained  man  is  fed  only  by  his 
memory.  But  one  who  has  been  trained  to  read  signifi- 
cance into  things  that  others  do  not  see  at  all,  could  read 
the  fine  writing  of  nature  in  the  trunks  of  all  the  trees. 
The  broad,  thick  band  of  wood  that  grew  that  year  is  the 
record  written  round  the  heart  of  every  tree  that  was 
alive  in  the  forests  at  that  time.  One  who  saw  the  big 
rain  would  easily  associate  the  rings  of  wood  in  the  trunks 
of  the  Monterey  pines  with  the  rain  that  caused  them. 
But  even  one  who  did  not  see  it  could  surely  infer  the 
cause  of  the  big  rings  that  were  formed  in  all  the  trees 
during  the  same  year.  And  the  succeeding  rings  would 
tell  tales  of  lean  and  thirsty  years.  His  thought  once 
started  might  develop  into  an  investigation  that  would 
lead  him  to  the  reports  of  the  weather  bureau  and  the 
account  books  of  the  hardware  men  who  installed  hun- 
dreds of  pumping  plants  in  the  orchards  to  offset  the 
lack  of  rain. 

With  all  of  us,  in  all  we  undertake  to  do,  the  chances 
of  error  are  enormous,  and  the  training  that  results  in 
real  intellectual  power  must  create  in  the  mind  a  habit 
of  looking  for  more  facts  and  a  certainty  that  every  fact 
has  a  tale  to  tell.  A  man  who  depends  on  his  intuitive 
ability  to  get  at  the  truth  at  once,  is  untrustworthy  both 


FURTHER  CONDITIONS  OF  SOUND  REASONING    229 

in  scholarship  and  in  business.  To  be  sure,  a  business 
man  of  long  experience  gives  important  decisions  in  the 
morning  concerning  the  business  of  the  day,  and  it  seems 
as  if  those  decisions  had  been  made  after  only  slight  con- 
sideration. But  the  outsider  who  observes  this  apparent 
spontaneity  of  judgment  does  not  know  how  long  and 
carefully  those  questions  were  weighed  secretly  during  the 
day  and  night  before.  He  does  not  know  how  to  estimate 
the  powerful  effect  of  that  business  man's  past  experience 
on  his  present  judgment.  The  man  himself  may  not  be 
aware  of  what  it  is  that  gives  him  the  necessary  sagacity 
to  deal  with  a  particular  case.  But  the  great  substratum 
of  experience  mostly  forgotten  and  buried  beneath  his 
present  consciousness,  furnishes  the  indefinable  but  solid 
basis  of  common  sense  which  makes  him  see  things 
promptly  in  their  true  light. 

Neither  do  scientific  men  turn  out  great  ideas  spon- 
taneously. They  labor  silently  over  their  views  and  look 
for  their  own  mistakes,  and  at  last  present  to  the  world 
only  the  results  that  have  been  wrought  over  and  over, 
carefully  and  painfully,  in  secret.  The  public  knows  in 
a  general  way  how  even  the  best  established  scientific 
views  undergo  change  as  knowledge  improves.  But  it 
would  marvel,  indeed,  if  it  knew  how  many  tentative 
views,  how  much  of  speculative  thought,  what  multitudes 
of  fancies  that  they  had  supposed  were  facts,  scientific 
men  quietly  cast  aside  as  their  minds  slowly  work  their 
way  toward  the  truth. 

The  same  thing  is  true  in  all  things  relating  to  the 


230  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

/ 

higher  and  finer  judgments  of  men.  There  is  no  intuitive 
road  to  the  truth.  Good  judgment  lies  at  the  far  end 
of  a  long  and  up-hill  road.  But  the  well-trained  mind 
comes  after  awhile  to  feel  the  right  and  the  wrong  at  each 
step.  There  is  an  indefinable  intellectual  sense  developed 
which  brings  sound  judgment  with  it.  Sagacity  grows 
only  slowly  and  silently  in  the  carefully  cultivated  soil  of 
experience.  It  does  not  come  "by  first  intention." 

It  is  by  expecting  that  something  will  happen  that 
the  robin  constantly  saves  its  life.  The  same  kind  of  habit 
of  expectant  attention  is  developed  in  the  right-thinking 
mind.  The  life  in  which  expectation  plays  no  part  is  of 
no  value  to  itself  or  to  any  one  else.  As  the  habit  of 
anticipation  grows,  the  mind  learns  not  only  to  expect 
that  something  is  coming,  but  to  foresee  more  or  less 
accurately  what  it  will  be.  Experience  develops  the  power 
to  interpret  little  indications  aright,  whether  the  matter 
under  consideration  is  a  Latin  translation  or  a  weather 
prediction. 

Most  students  who  work  hard  have  at  some  time 
struggled  persistently  with  a  subject  that  constantly 
baffled  them.  And  perhaps  when  failure  seemed  most 
certain,  an  understanding  of  the  subject  has  come  as  if 
by  inspiration.  A  new  insight  into  what  was  poorly  un- 
derstood seems  to  be  the  result  of  happy  accident.  But 
such  happy  accidents  occur  only  to  those  who  are  prepared 
for  them.  The  great  inventions  that  startle  the  com- 
mercial world,  the  great  scientific  discoveries  that  revolu- 
tionize human  thought,  and  the  little  mental  triumphs  of 


FURTHER  CONDITIONS  OF  SOUND  REASONING    231 

the  student  in  his  daily  studies  are  all  the  result  of  long 
previous  labor  and  patient  searching.  Though  the  final 
success,  the  final  insight,  seems  so  sudden  and  startling, 
so  disconnected  from  what  has  gone  before,  it  is  after 
all,  "the  vexing,  forward-reaching  sense"  coupled  with 
sagacity  that  leads  as  if  by  intuition  straight  to  the  de- 
sired result.  I 


232  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

CHAPTER  XXIL 

REFLECTION. 

Winning  a  battle  is  not  all  a  general  has  to  do.  Un- 
less he  promptly  and  carefully  reaps  the  fruits  of  his 
victory  he  had  better  never  have  fought  at  all.  Unless 
the  student  takes  the  time  to  reap  the  fruits  of  his  sys- 
tematic efforts  by  careful  reflection  on  what  he  has  done, 
his  labor  is  largely  wasted.  Old  Confucius  came  into  the 
world  late  enough  to  be  able  to  observe  that  "Learning 
without  thought  is  time  lost." 

Telling  students  to  muse  upon  their  work,  to  think, 
seems  much  like  telling  men  to  be  good.  They  have 
been  told  this  since  the  beginning  of  the  world  but  they 
are  still  prone  to  do  evil  as  the  sparks  fly  upward.  Suc- 
cess that  comes  of  effort  instead  of  luck  in  any  depart- 
ment of  life  depends  on  hard  and  steady  thinking.  Mere- 
ly trying  to  understand  or  repeat  the  thinking  that  is 
done  by  others  does  not  bring  success  either  to  a  grocery 
clerk  or  a  philosopher. 

In  dealing  with  any  subject,  either  as  students  or  as 
practical  people  of  the  world,  the  most  of  us  are  inclined 
to  let  go  before  the  subject  is  "worked  out."  Interest 
in  other  things  draws  away  the  mind  from  its  regular 
duties  before  they  are  thoroughly  done.  The  clerk  who 


REFLECTION  233 

has  his  hat  on  and  his  hand  on  the  door-knob  when  the 
clock  strikes  six  has  taken  his  mind  completely  off  his 
duties;  he  need  not  look  for  promotion.  He  is  no 
thinker. 

If  on  the  other  hand  the  mind  remains  fixed  on  a 
topic  so  that  results  can  be  worked  out,  it  still  labors 
under  humanity's  handicap — an  irritable  desire  to  act 
directly.  We  cannot  brook  delay  or  postpone  results  long 
enough  to  give  careful  reflection  to  what  we  are  doing. 
No  thread  of  thought  is  spun,  no  garment  of  reflection 
is  woven.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  our  knowledge  is  so  im- 
perfect and  unreliable  and  our  notions  are  so  far  away 
from  the  truth?  The  robin  might  as  well  expect  living 
nestlings  without  brooding  its  eggs  as  for  a  human  be- 
ing to  expect  profit  from  storing  up  facts  without 
brooding  over  them. 

Facts  without  afterthought  have  no  common  pur- 
pose ;  they  only  get  in  each  other's  way.  When  once  they 
are  brought  by  reflection  to  point  toward  a  common  truth, 
their  combined  force  is  not  merely  the  force  of  one  fact 
multiplied  by  their  number.  The  courage  of  a  single 
wolf  is  a  very  doubtful  quantity;  one  may  have  mixed 
feelings  concerning  it,  and  quite  likely  contempt  for  a 
single  wolf  will  not  be  absent  in  the  mixture.  The  same 
is  true  of  a  single  fact.  It  may  slip  in  and  out  of  con- 
sciousness on  wolfish,  padded  feet,  but  it  commands  no 
respect,  gives  no  inspiration. 

But  seven  wolves  leave  no  doubt  upon  the  mind. 
Their  courage  is  no  longer  the  courage  of  a  single  wolf 


234  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

multiplied  by  seven.  It  is  the  courage  of  the  pack  that 
makes  it  dangerous  and  makes  men  wish  that  there  were 
fire  between  it  and  them.  The  mysterious  new  power  of 
organization  and  mutual  support  has  entered  as  a  new  and 
most  important  factor.  Each  wolf  makes  a  different 
kind  of  wolf  out  of  each  of  the  other  six.  Every  snarl 
and  yelp  gives  hotter,  quicker  breath  to  all  the  pack,  till 
the  victim  is  brought  to  bay  in  terror.  The  facts  that 
constitute  our  learning  likewise  draw  all  their  interest 
and  importance  from  being  carefully  thought  over  and 
brought  into  close  relation  with  their  fellows.  They  give 
each  other  mutual  support.  Each  becomes  a  proof  of  the 
truth  of  the  others. 

It  is  the  constant  learning  of  more  and  more  facts 
without  thinking  about  them  that  produces  the  hopeless 
confusion  revealed  in  examination  papers  and  which  is  so 
constantly  and  despairingly  discussed  and  so  often  made 
the  butt  of  ridicule. 

A  class  in  English  literature  was  given  a  series  of 
selections  from  the  Old  Testament  to  study  for  their 
historical  and  literary  value.  No  religious  requirements 
were  connected  with  the  reading.  The  purpose  was  to 
familiarize  the  class  with  those  great  Old  Testament 
characters  and  passages  that  have  permeated  all  litera- 
ture with  allusions,  and  without  a  direct  knowledge  of 
which  every  reader  of  modern  literature  and  every  stu- 
dent of  mediaeval  and  modern  art  is  at  a  constant  and 
serious  loss. 

In  the  examination,  one  of  the  young  men,  in  answer 


REFLECTION  235 

to  a  question  concerning  the  historical  position  and  char- 
acter of  Moses,  said,  "Moses  was  born  in  a  manger,  and 
found  and  brought  up  by  the  daughter  of  a  shepherd ;  he 
was  born  in  Israel  and  lived  there  till  a  young  man.'' 

This  fearful  and  hopeless  confusion  of  facts  would  be 
more  laughable  and  less  pitiful  if  such  intellectual  per- 
formances were  not  so  desperately  common.  They  are 
not  oddities,  but  fairly  represent  a  large  part  of  the  mis- 
cellaneous knowledge  that  is  ordinarily  accumulated  even 
under  the  guidance  of  teachers.  But  the  student  is  the 
culpable  party.  His  curse  is  lack  of  thought  on  what 
he  is  doing  at  the  time  he  does  it,  and  reflection  after  the 
work  is  completed.  That  is  what  leads  to  all  the  mental 
confusion  that  crops  up  afterwards  when  the  facts  get 
hopelessly  mixed.  And  it  is  not  likely  that  they  will 
ever  be  brought  back  into  their  original  connections  again. 
After  the  first  impression  is  made  each  fact  is  allowed  to 
shift  for  itself  without  further  attention.  Too  much  of 
the  student's  work  is  left  in  the  stage  of  "first  opinion" — 
crude,  unconsidered  and  defective. 

The  student's  natural  excuse  is  that  the  tendency 
of  the  times  so  burdens  him  with  quantity  of  work  that 
it  is  with  him  a  sheer  question  of  getting  over  the  ground, 
let  alone  cultivating  it  carefully  by  the  reflective  process. 
But  a  little  afterthought  goes  a  long  way.  In  the  long 
run  the  surest  way  to  master  large  quantities  of  work  is 
to  give  careful  thought  to  every  step.  Thought  and  after- 
thought become  a  habit  by  and  by,  and  the  time  so  often 
lost  because  of  a  poor  understanding  of  a  subject  is  all 


236  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

saved  when  once  the  habit  of  reflection  is  established. 
To  be  specific,  ten  minutes  of  reflection  will  save  half  an 
hour  of  digging  before  the  day  is  over. 

It  is  nearly  true  that  reading,  and  repetition  of  what 
others  have  said — so-called  study — on  the  one  hand,  and 
real  thinking  on  the  other  hand  are  in  inverse  ratio.  A 
really  productive  thinker  may  do  much  reading;  but  he 
makes  his  reading  incidental  to  his  thinking.  When 
such  a  man  reads  he  reaches  out  after  the  crucial  facts. 
He  is  after  the  kind  of  information  that  will  help  settle 
something  one  way  or  the  other.  Lincoln,  Bunyan,  the 
antique  Edmund  Rich,  were  all  men  of  small  reading,  as 
we  speak  of  reading  now;  but  what  they  read,  they  used 
to  feed  the  furnaces  of  their  thought. 

I  do  not  wish  even  to  seem  to  belittle  the  value  of 
reading.  Breadth  of  thought  and  culture,  soundness  of 
reasoning,  require  a  wide  range  of  knowledge.  It  is  a 
fact,  however,  that  the  vast  and  growing  literature  of  the 
present  is  affecting  the  quality  of  our  wit.  We  learn  to 
read  with  no  intention  of  giving  the  matter  a  second 
thought.  A  large  supply  of  facts,  a  wide  range  of  ac- 
curate knowledge  is  indispensable  to  sound  thinking. 
But  much  reading  is  fatal  to  the  development  of  the 
higher  intellectual  powers  unless  these  retain  the  mas- 
tery over  all  the  material  that  is  brought  before  the  mind. 
Truth  reveals  itself  only  slowly,  and  our  desire  to  act  di- 
rectly, to  have  a  conclusion  promptly,  makes  most  of  us 
followers  of  those  who  are  willing  to  wait  and  think.  It 
is  important  to  know  the  truth  at  the  beginning  of  life; 


REFLECTION  237 

but  wisdom  comes  only  at  the  end.  It  is  only  when  the 
facts  are  all  summed  up  and  carefully  thought  over  that 
the  truth  reveals  itself. 

The  leaves  of  the  trees  unfold  and  fill  the  earth  with 
green ;  they  grow  brilliant  when  bitten  by  the  frost ;  they 
fall  and  are  forgotten  and  are  followed  by  others  just  as 
good.  But  the  permanent  part  of  the  tree  is  of  slower 
growth,  silent  and  imperceptible.  The  daily  tasks  pursue 
one  another  through  the  seasons,  and  each  seems  like  the 
other.  But  the  power  of  thought  grows  large  and  abides. 
It  upholds  the  fabric  of  knowledge  because  it  built  each 
item  and  gave  it  vitality.  Final  success,  explanation, 
penetration,  insight,  may  seem  sudden  and  startling,  but 
it  is  only  the  late  fruit  of  steady  and  accurate  thinking 
carried  on  silently  through  the  years. 


238  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE   IMPULSIVE   AND   THE   VACILLATING  WILL. 

The  writer  may  as  well  make  a  confession  here  that 
is  not  made  in  the  preface.  This  book  is  written  to  the 
willing  student.  And  by  willingness  I  mean  not  merely 
the  willingness  of  inclination  but  of  active  force.  What 
will  be  said  in  this  chapter,  therefore,  will  have  chiefly 
a  negative  value  for  him.  It  will  deal  largely  with  states 
of  mind  that  had  better  be  avoided.  The  following  chap- 
ter will  discuss  what  seems  to  me  to  be  the  desirable 
qualities  of  the  will. 

The  drunkard  drinks  and  the  boy  plays  because  im- 
pulse is  the  master.  Present  gratification  is  the  only 
motive  that  rules  the  conduct.  There  is  no  regard  for 
consequences,  no  consideration,  no  serious  thought  about 
the  bearing  of  the  present  act  upon  the  near  or  distant 
future.  In  such  a  character  there  is  no  reflection  be- 
tween the  first  thought  and  the  action;  no  influence  of 
remote  interests  or  the  interests  of  others  upon  the  pres- 
ent conduct.  Such  a  life  of  impulse  is  a  stream  over 
which  the  judgment  exercises  no  apparent  control. 

A  typically  impulsive  will  acts  in  entire  absence  of 
rofloc-tion.  It  is  swayed  at  every  step  by  a  single  thought. 
No  deliberate  judgment  is  first  passed  upon  all  the  pos- 


THE  IMPULSIVE  AND  VACILLATING  WILLS       239 

sible  motives  for  action  or  the  absence  of  it.  Each  new 
circumstance  sways  the  mind  completely  and  excites  to 
action.  The  senses  and  passions  fix  upon  whatever  is  at 
hand,  and  gratification,  immediate  and  complete,  is  the 
only  matter  that  enters  as  a  motive.  Every  act,  however, 
is  followed  by  a  complicated  network  of  consequences. 
But  the  life  of  impulse  leaves  these  out  of  consideration 
at  every  step,  and  is  always  unprepared  for  what  is  com- 
ing. Responsibility  is  set  at  naught.  Such  a  life  is  one 
of  careless  drifting  with  the  stream  of  interest  or  of 
cruel  buffeting  against  the  consequences  of  unconsidered 
acts.  As  soon  as  the  immediate  interest  has  been  ex- 
hausted the  life  has  to  hunt  for  a  new  hold  upon  the 
world.  A  new  start  has  to  be  made.  The  chief  difficulty 
here  is  the  lack  of  permanent  motives  to  action  or  re- 
straint. There  being  no  such  guide,  the  will  is  free  to 
act  without  the  friction  of  deliberate  reflection,  and  the 
course  of  conduct  as  well  as  the  course  of  thought  is  likely 
to  be  a  series  of  errors. 

There  is  a  curious,  but  not  uncommon,  effect  pro- 
duced in  the  class-room  by  what  has  been  aptly  called 
the  explosive  will.  From  among  my  experiences  there 
stands  out  the  case  of  a  student  of  French.  He  had 
studied  carefully  the  principles  of  the  grammar;  but 
when  it  came  to  the  reading  of  French,  he  made  a  bad 
failure  of  it,  because  there  was  in  his  character  a  com- 
bination of  low  reflective  power  with  great  explosiveness. 
There  was  inability  to  gather  up  all  the  data  necessary 
for  making  a  right  decision,  inability  to  wait  until  delib- 


240  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

eration  had  done  its  work.  The  translation  of  every  sen- 
tence that  he  touched  was  a  succession  of  errors,  because 
he  could  not  "keep  cool"  till  he  had  considered  all  the 
facts.  In  one  effort  he  might  give  careful  attention  to 
the  tense  of  the  verb  and  answer  before  attending  to  its 
number.  In  the  next  effort  on  the  same  sentence  he 
might  reverse  the  process.  Only  by  constant  criticism 
and  check  upon  his  explosiveness  could  he  be  finally  in- 
duced to  correlate  his  facts  and  squeeze  the  truth  out  of 
them. 

His  case  was  unique,  however,  because  this  trait  was 
so  pronounced  in  him.  The  type  of  mind,  in  a  less  ex- 
treme form,  is  quite  common.  At  bottom,  this  explo- 
siveness  seems  to  be  due  to  the  fact  that  out  of  the  cloud 
of  facts  that  ought  to  be  considered,  one  stands  forth 
so  clearly  from  the  general  haziness  that  it  wields  an 
almost  unhindered  influence  upon  the  mind;  and  imme- 
diate action  follows.  The  student  of  French  referred  to 
always  did  most  of  his  thinking  after  he  had  spoken. 
As  soon  as  he  understood  a  single  point  in  a  sentence, 
he  seemed  to  be  under  the  dire  necessity  of  giving  ex- 
pression to  his  knowledge,  regardless  of  the  other  points 
that  were  entitled  to  equal  consideration. 

Great  explosions  come  from  the  sudden  release  of 
tremendous  force  that  may  have  been  long  in  gathering. 
The  action  of  the  will  may  be  very  sudden  and  violent 
after  long,  undue  repression;  but  that  is  entirely  differ- 
ent from  the  everlasting  pop-pop-popping  of  the  explo- 
sive will  that  goes  off  on  the  slightest  provocation  and 
leads  to  action  that  is  not  preceded  by  deliberation. 


THE  IMPULSIVE  AND  VACILLATING  WILLS       241 

The  other  extreme  is  seen  in  individuals  who  habitu- 
ally give  long  and  careful  consideration  to  any  proposed 
line  of  action.  One  who  acts  without  deliberation,  but  on 
the  inspiration  of  each  momentary  impulse,  is  likely  to 
be  an  "active"  individual,  busy  all  the  time;  but  his  ac- 
tivity is  not  industry  because  it  has  no  ultimate  ends  in 
view.  In  the  type  now  to  be  discussed  the  will  is  con- 
stantly checked  by  the  spirit  of  deliberation.  Professor 
James  has  given  a  fine  description  of  the  two  types  of 
mind  in  his  Principles  of  Psychology ;  and  he  shows  that 
the  latter  type  does  not  necessarily  imply  an  ineffective 
life.  It  habitually  gives  consideration  to  all  the  factors 
•that  can  possibly  enter  into  the  question  at  issue;  the 
thinking  is  clear,  the  decision  is  definite;  the  reasons  for 
the  judgment  are  sound.  In  such  a  type  the  decision  so 
frequently  is  that  it  is  not  worth  while  to  act,  that  it 
leaves  the  impression  that  the  life  is  a  negative,  ineffect- 
ive one.  Whereas  the  explosive  individual  is  constantly 
busy  carrying  his  various  impulses  into  effect,  the  delib- 
erative individual  seems  incapable  of  effective  action. 

But  this  is  not  so.  Such  a  character  may  appear 
defective  in  will  power,  while  it  may  really  be  symmetri- 
cal. Its  life  is  likely  to  be  steady  and  quiet.  It  may 
commit  errors  of  judgment.  Its  reasons  for  not  acting 
may  not  always  appeal  to  the  sound  judgment  of  others, 
but  they  are  easily  understood.  Inaction  is  not  due  to 
confusion  of  thought  or  inability  to  reach  a  decision. 
One  thus  gifted  may  act  only  rarely;  but  when  he  does 
act,  he  is  likely  to  act  with  great  force,  because  his  mind 


242  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

is  made  up.  Not  uncommonly  this  apparent  sluggish- 
ness of  the  will  is  coupled  with  great  stubbornness  of 
purpose  when  action  is  once  taken. 

Every  thoughtful  individual  can  draw  from  his  own 
experience  illustrations  of  errors  of  judgment.  Some 
time  after  an  apparently  important  thing  has  been  done  it 
becomes  plain  that  it  was  not  nearly  so  important  as  it 
looked.  Acts  that  were  omitted  because  their  reasons 
appeared  unimportant,  sometimes  look  very  different  at 
the  end  of  a  day  or  a  week.  They  assume  an  impor- 
tance that  is  wholly  unlocked  for.  Things  that  promised 
satisfaction  turn  into  ashes  when  touched;  and  things 
that  we  dreaded  to  approach  and  worried  much  about 
seem  to  lose  all  their  significance  after  a  little.  Time, 
"the  great  independent  variable,"  gives  a  lengthening 
perspective  to  the  details  of  our  lives  which  robs  them  of 
the  original  value  that  we  assigned  to  them.  Some  that 
we  treated  as  insignificant  become  large  with  importance, 
and  others,  to  which  we  assigned  vast  significance,  dwindle 
into  paltry  details. 

The  impulsive  type  of  mind  is  likely  to  be  forever 
falling  into  this  kind  of  error  of  judgment.  Acting  al- 
ways on  simple,  momentary  motives,  it  gets  no  mental 
perspective  by  means  of  which  to  judge  rightly  of  a  given 
course  of  thought  or  action.  The  deliberate  type  is 
likely  to  see  things  in  their  true  light.  The  deliberative 
individual  may  lose  many  of  the  legitimate  passing  pleas- 
ures of  life,  but  he  is  not  likely  to  lose  the  solid  attain- 
ments which  one  with  the  explosive  nature  never  can  se- 
cure. 


THE  IMPULSIVE  AND  VACILLATING  WILLS       243 

There  is,  however,  a  much  worse  condition  than  either 
of  those  described  above,  one  especially  fatal  to  the  best 
interests  of  the  student.  He  is  bound  by  the  nature  of 
his  calling  to  be  an  accurate  and  systematic  thinker.  But 
thought,  to  be  of  any  value,  must  furnish  effective  mo- 
tives for  action.  The  thought  itself  will  be  untrue  to 
reality  unless  kept  running  in  a  well-marked  channel  that 
opens  out  into  action.  The  state  of  mind  in  which  a 
consistent  train  of  reasoning  is  carried  through  but  does 
not  result  in  any  kind  of  action,  can  play  havoc  even 
with  a  genius.  Motives,  if  felt,  are  not  strong  enough 
to  produce  action. 

I  am  not  speaking  now  of  the  contemplative  mind, 
which  stands,  as  it  were,  by  the  roadside  of  life  and  makes 
notes  upon  experience,  which  purposely  remains  in  the  at- 
titude of  observer  and  commentator  of  the  action  of 
others.  I  refer  to  the  state  of  mind  in  which  the  desira- 
bility of  a  course  of  action  is  recognized  and  acknowledged 
but  there  is  not  enough  desire  or  will  power  to  carry  the 
thought  into  effect.  Most  human  beings  love  action  of 
some  kind,  and  give  some  sort  of  exercise  to  their  vital 
powers.  It  is  in  the  presence  of  difficulties  that  thought 
becomes  more  and  more  widely  separated  from  action. 
The  lack  of  moral  force  to  carry  the  clearly  conceived 
notion  through  into  reality  over  obstacles  tends  constant- 
ly to  weaken  the  relation  between  the  individual's 
thoughts  and  his  acts.  There  is  no  difficulty  in  thinking 
out  a  plan  or  a  line  of  reasoning;  and  the  stress  of  life 
is  avoided  by  stopping  short  of  action.  Under  such  con- 


244  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

ditions  such  action  as  there  is,  results  from  the  pressure 
of  circumstances,  while  the  thought  becomes  more  and 
more  disconnected  from  reality. 

Even  the  scientific  man,  who  is  supposed  to  deal  ex- 
clusively with  hard,  cold  facts  must  have  a  powerful  im- 
agination to  light  the  way  for  his  slow  and  dogged  think- 
ing. But  he  always  brings  imagination  to  heel  and  makes 
it  the  servant  of  real  investigation.  It  is  chained  to  facts 
and  must  carry  them  along.  Its  flight  is  constantly 
checked  and  changed  and  hampered  by  tests. 

When  a  habit  of  day-dreaming  and  shirking  reality  is 
once  cultivated,  is  deliberately  invited  to  govern  the  men- 
tal life,  will  power  is  likely  to  be  at  its  lowest  ebb.  The 
most  beautiful  and  consistent  day-dreams  flourish  best  in 
the  absence  of  the  healthy,  robust  action  of  the  will. 
Speculation  in  science  and  philosophy  is  the  easiest  and 
wildest  where  the  facts  are  fewest  and  most  obscure,  and 
experiment  does  not  enter  to  disturb  the  course  of 
thought.  Theory  is  most  complete  and  perfect  where 
there  is  no  chance  or  mood  for  practice. 

To  make  the  character  flaccid  and  ineffective  it  is  not 
necessary  that  the  mind  should  dwell  largely  upon  no- 
tions that  cannot  be  put  into  execution.  There  is  a  con- 
stant temptation  to  let  thought  have  its  free  course  and 
to  stop  just  short  of  action,  even  when  we  are  thinking 
upon  wholesome,  nearby  things  that  can  be  carried  into 
effect.  The  difficulty  seems  to  be  in  that  first  exercise  of 
the  will  that  leads  to  action.  Legions  of  men  and  women 
keep  their  minds  actively  at  work  upon  the  possibilities 


THE  IMPULSIVE  AND  VACILLATING  WILLS       245 

of  life,  but  do  not  take  the  first  step  required  for  their 
realization.  This  state  of  mind,  once  chronic,  makes  ac- 
tion pale  and  sickly.  This  flabby  quality  of  thought  that 
lacks  the  bony  stiffening  of  the  will  is  more  common,  espe- 
cially among  students,  than  most  of  us  would  be  willing 
to  admit.  In  the  end  the  individual  seems  to  lose  all 
ability  to  crystallize  his  thought  or  even  his  desire  into 
action.  Circumstances  may  coerce  him  to  act,  but  that 
is  shabby  training  for  the  will. 

There  is  one  doubtful  improvement  on  this  state  of 
things.  There  are  multitudes  who  conceive  clearly  and 
reflect  fairly  well,  and  who  spend  much  moral  energy  firm- 
ly resolving  to  accomplish  certain  results.  Kesolutions  re- 
late largely  to  action  at  a  definite  time  in  the  future. 
They  are  mostly  a  concession  to  the  righteousness  of  the 
thought  and  a  provision  for  postponing  the  action.  A 
resolution  is  only  the  shadow  of  the  will;  and  shadows 
are  mostly  worthless. 

Alongside  this  poor  apology  for  will  power  belongs 
the  vacillating  whiffle-tree  will,  that  alternately  begins 
and  abandons  action.  It  finds  no  secure  backing  in 
careful  judgment.  If  for  any  reason  action  of  any  kind 
is  begun,  the  reason  soon  appears  a  poor  one;  other  rea- 
sons arise  for  doing  otherwise.  Decisions  are  readily 
reached  and  action  may  be  prompt,  but  no  sooner  has  per- 
formance begun  than  confusion  arises;  new  considera- 
tions come  up  and  produce  hesitation  that  ends  in  a  halt. 
Then  comes  further  deliberation,  and  another  start,  that 
loses  its  force  before  the  friction  is  overcome.  The  will 


248  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

keeps  whipping  back  and  forth  like  a  tree-top  in  the  wind. 
Chronic  uncertainty  finally  pervades  the  whole  life.  Such 
an  individual  is  in  practical  life  marked  by  the  community 
as  one  to  be  avoided  when  anything  is  to  be  accomplished. 
Not  only  is  he  no  helper  of  others;  he  is  a  check  on  all 
straight-forward  action. 


THE   AGONY    OF   STARTING  247 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  AGONY  OF  STARTING. 

The  reason  so  many  good  ideas  are  never  carried  into 
practical  effect  is  that  there  is  a  period  of  agony  that 
intervenes  between  the  thought  and  effective  aetion.  The 
beginning  of  any  action  is  more  difficult  than  its  continu- 
ance. Even  a  horse  knows  that.  It  costs  blood  to  start 
a  load  that  is  easily  pulled  after  it  is  moving.  But  there 
is  comfort  in  the  thought  that  the  law  has  no  exceptions. 
Every  force  acts  more  slowly  at  first.  Gravitation  does 
not  agonize  over  the  fact  that  at  the  first  instant,  a  stone's 
movement  is  very  slow ;  nor  does  it  draw  courage  from  the 
sure  knowledge  that  the  stone  will  move  faster  after  a 
while.  The  force  of  gravity  simply  makes  the  steady  pull, 
and  the  speed  of  motion  increases  inevitably.  The  same 
is  true  of  the  efforts  of  horses  and  men;  only  they  feel 
bound  to  agonize  more  or  less  over  the  start. 

I  believe  that  in  the  experience  of  nearly  all  minds 
there  is  more  or  less  of  this  difficulty,  inertia,  resistance 
to  action  even  after  the  thought  is  clear  and  the  resolu- 
tion to  act  has  been  made.  I  believe,  too,  that  every  man 
and  woman  who  hopes  for  a  successful  life  must  come  to 
recognize  clearly  and  frankly  this  difficulty  of  making  the 
start.  No  one  who,  having  recognized  it,  is  unwilling  to 


248  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

serve  his  apprenticeship  through  this  preliminary  period 
will  ever  carry  into  execution  his  most  worthy  thought  and 
desire.  Whether  the  question  is  one  merely  of  studying 
a  lesson  or  writing  a  paper  or  making  a  dissection  in  the 
laboratory,  or  of  pursuing  a  whole  course  of  study,  the 
success  of  the  actual  execution  depends  absolutely  on  the 
quality  of  the  action  of  the  reason  and  the  will  during 
this  preliminary  struggle,  no  matter  whether  it  is  short  or 
long. 

The  unhappy  period  of  getting  under  way  is  the  home 
of  lost  souls.  There  lie  bleaching  the  bones  of  all  the 
hopes  and  desires,  and  all  the  puny  and  half-developed 
efforts  of  humanity.  One  learns  to  cross  this  unprom- 
ising -valley  of  preliminary  effort ;  but  a  thousand  never 
see  the  farther  heights  of  success.  They  try  a  little 
and  fail;  henceforth  they  are  pushed  hither  and  thither 
by  the  harsh  hand  of  circumstance. 

There  is  no  road  around  this  valley.  There  must 
sooner  or  later  be  developed  a  sublime  faith,  that  the  ap- 
parently weak  and  fruitless  first  efforts  are  only  a  nec- 
essary prelude  to  what  will  surely  be  strong  and  steady 
action  with  big  results.  But  this  easy  faith  that  ultimate 
success  comes  through  preliminary  effort  and  distress  is 
the  growth  of  time  and  practice. 

One  of  the  chief  difficulties  in  the  mind's  way  may 
be  dealt  with  a  little  in  detail.  When  we  peer  into  the 
future,  time  is  foreshortened.  All  the  parts  of  a  future 
experience,  as  we  gaze  upon  it  expectantly  from  the 
present,  seem  bunched  together.  Dreams  of  pleasure 


THE   AGONY    OF   STARTING  249 

and  profit  usually  leave  out  of  consideration  the  long 
labors  preliminary  to  their  achievement,  so  the  joy  seems 
all  undiluted.  So,  too,  all  sorts  of  difficulties,  however 
well  they  may  be  understood,  seem  crowded  close  to- 
gether. In  our  thought  they  are  not  diluted,  spread  far 
apart  by  time. 

One  of  the  essential  conditions  of  success,  either  in 
study  or  in  business  or  in  social  life  is  that  the  mind 
shall  have  a  clear  grasp  of  the  difficulties  to  be  met, 
a  clear  view  of  what  is  coming.  The  plans  that  are  laid 
must  include  provision  not  only  for  all  known  difficul- 
ties, but  for  unforeseen  emergencies.  It  is  never  safe 
to  belittle  a  task  when  preparations  are  made  for  its 
execution.  But  after  the  task  has  been  considered,  when 
its  nature  is  understood,  and  its  difficulties  fully  realized 
and  planned  for,  then  the  will  needs  to  be  focussed  on 
the  initial  step  alone.  A  large  proportion  of  human 
failure  is  due  to  the  fact  that  all  the  obstacles  loom  up 
immediately  in  front  of  the  mind's  eye.  The  lengthening 
course  of  time  and  its  effect  are  not  sufficiently  thought 
about.  It  is  because  the  moral  courage  is  called  upon 
to  face  and,  as  it  were,  to  act  against  all  the  obstacles 
at  once,  and  that,  too,  at  the  beginning,  that  makes  tasks 
of  every  kind  so  much  dreaded.  Obstacles  are  the  great 
sifters  of  men.  Only  those  with  faith  that  the  first  blow 
counts,  though  it  may  show  no  results,  are  willing  to 
give  the  blow  and  follow  it  with  another.  They  know 
that  all  things  must  yield,  if  they  are  struck  often  and 
hard  enough. 


250  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

The  absence  of  results  after  the  first  efforts  dampens 
first  enthusiasm  and  then  hope  and  interest.  When  these 
are  smothered,  action  ceases.  There  is  never  effort  with- 
out faith.  But  even  the  worst  failure  in  an  effort  to 
perform  a  student's  task  is  a  valuable  experience.  It 
helps  to  clear  the  ground.  Failures  reveal  the  false  no- 
tions with  which  the  mind  started.  Every  failure,  if 
correctly  valued,  brings  the  mind  nearer  to  success.  Only 
children  and  inexperienced  enthusiasts  expect  first 
thought  to  ripen  into  successful  action.  The  relation 
between  thought  and  reality,  theory  and  practice,  is  not 
BO  close  as  that. 

It  is  important  to  remember  in  this  connection  that 
difficulties  dissolve  in  the  doing.  No  matter  how  weak 
a  student's  first  results  may  be,  no  matter  how  faint  the 
first  gleam  of  his  understanding  of  his  task,  that  little 
is  the  most  powerful  weapon  that  has  yet  been  forged 
for  further  struggle.  Comprehension  now  has  something 
to  take  hold  upon.  The  mind  can  grasp  the  little  that 
it  has,  and  use  it  in  looking  for  more.  The  power  of 
performance  is  cumulative.  The  mind  of  the  student 
may  not  be  sensibly  stronger  at  the  end  of  a  half  hour 
of  struggle,  but  its  capacity  for  effective  thinking  is 
vastly  greater,  because  with  every  effort  put  forth  some- 
thing new  is  gained  that  lends  help  in  understanding 
everything  that  is  touched  afterwards.  The  hands  may 
be  the  same,  but  the  tools  are  better. 

It  is  at  the  beginning  of  each  task,  and  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  student's  career,  that  this  principle  of  cumu- 


THE   AGONY    OF  STARTING  251 

lative  power  needs  to  be  realized.  The  amount  of  time 
spent  in  preliminary  doubt,  half-heartedness  and  misery 
over  lack  of  good  progress  will  depend  largely  on  faith. 
The  time  will  be  short  or  long,  minutes  or  hours,  accord- 
ing as  one  is  or  is  not  confident  that  the  difficulty  is  only 
the  friction  of  getting  started. 

The  general  perversity  of  things  often  serves  to  check 
an  individual's  action  by  disappointing  him.  Nothing 
seems  to  turn  out  as  expected.  Hope  and  expectation 
seem  blasted  at  the  outset.  But  while  we  cannot  too 
greatly  emphasize  the  importance  of  trying  to  foresee  a 
result,  it  is  well  to  remember  that  realization  is  usually 
widely  different  from  expectation  and  usually  falls  far 
short.  The  effect  of  constantly  disappointing  expecta- 
tion depends  on  the  attitude  of  the  mind. 

The  real  attitude  of  the  scientific  man  toward 
what  is  yet  unknown  is  based  upon  an  unquenchable  de- 
sire to  know  the  reality  that  is  hidden  behind  the  myste- 
rious curtain.  Desire  for  truth  is  the  distinguishing 
mark  of  the  true  philosopher,  no  matter  whether  it  ful- 
fills his  expectations  or  smashes  them  to  atoms.  Disap- 
pointment in  his  expectations  does  not  check  his  efforts, 
because  he  is  not  merely  seeking  to  fulfill  those  expecta- 
tions and  gratify  his  hopes.  He  is  trying  to  find  the 
truth. 

If  after  he  makes  his  first  efforts  he  finds  his  expec- 
tations flatly  contradicted  by  the  results,  the  failure  only 
serves  to  correct  his  judgment,  and  brings  him  nearer 
the  truth.  In  short,  the  scientific  man  must  be  open- 


262  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

minded,  in  a  state  of  expectant  attention,  confident  that 
something  is  to  be  learned,  with  willingness  and  a  dogged 
determination  to  find  it  out,  and  with  the  love  of  truth 
so  strong  in  him  that,  no  matter  what  the  results  may 
prove  to  be,  he  will  accept  them  frankly  as  the  real  ob- 
ject for  which  he  was  looking. 

If  a  general's  happiness  and  hope  of  fame  depended 
on  his  carrying  out  in  every  detail  the  plan  of  a  cam- 
paign that  he  had  mapped  out  in  advance,  his  chance  of 
disappointment  would  be  great  indeed.  His  will  is  ob- 
structed at  every  turn  by  a  perverse  opponent.  But  if 
his  ultimate  aim  is  the  capture  of  the  enemy's  men  and 
guns  and  territory,  his  best  powers  are  kept  constantly 
at  work  to  meet  new  conditions.  And  what  is  true  of  the 
scientific  man  or  the  soldier  is  true  of  the  business  man 
or  the  student.  Expectations  do  not  constitute  the  sum 
of  life;  often,  perhaps,  they  do  not  even  represent  the 
best  that  may  befall.  To  wring  success  out  of  failure 
is  both  the  doom  and  the  glory  of  the  real  man. 


THE  PETRIFIED  WILL ;   HABITUAL  MASTERY     253 


f  %  CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  PETRIFIED   WILL;   HABITUAL   MASTERY. 

The  only  valuable  action  is  action  that  is  persisted 
in.  Nothing  produces  results  of  any  value  in  science  or 
study  or  business  except  following  up  the  first  results 
and  securing  the  total  cumulative  effect  of  steady  action. 
No  general  can  win  a  campaign  by  merely  winning  s 
victory,  unless  he  follows  up  the  victory.  A  broad  range 
of  vision  is  of  no  value  to  the  hunter  who  does  not  give 
steady  pursuit.  It  is  the  after  strokes  that,  outwardly 
at  least,  count  for  most.  Contentment  with  the  first 
fruits  never  wrought  any  good  to  either  a  soldier  or  a 
scholar. 

Recent  history  has  furnished  the  world  a  remarkable 
example  of  a  petrified  national  will.  The  Boer  farmers 
first  startled  the  world  by  the  courage  with  which  they 
faced  tremendous  odds  and  by  their  remarkable  successes. 
But  that  first  feeling  of  excitement  over  the  semi-mirac- 
ulous gave  way  to  chronic  astonishment  at  the  persist- 
ence with  which  the  Boers  held  out  against  their  enemies 
and  apparently  smashed  all  the  doctrines  of  probability 
by  sheer  force  of  will. 

The  only  reason  that  can  be  given  why  the  Boers 
did  not  yield  at  certain  critical  and  apparently  hopeless 


254  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

stages  of  the  war  is  that  they  simply  would  not  chang< 
their  minds,  and  their  enemies,  who  had  done  nearb 
everything  else,  could  not  change  their  minds  for  them 
Stubbornness  of  will,  even  under  the  most  distressing 
circumstances,  has  made  their  struggle  stand  out  amonj 
the  marvels  of  history.  With  most  of  their  men  an( 
nearly  all  their  women  and  children  prisoners,  with  thei 
initial  resources  exhausted,  with  but  slight  opportunitie 
to  replenish  their  necessities,  their  petrified  will  found  i 
way  in  the  wilderness  to  keep  soul  and  body  together 
to  evade  the  enemy,  to  puzzle  the  world  and  make  i 
mighty  people  wish  that  they  had  waited  for  a  friendl; 
destiny  to  accomplish  the  conquest  by  peaceful  means 
The  world  may  pity  and  puzzle ;  but  it  was  a  case  of  un 
limited  resources  against  a  petrified  national  will. 

It  would  be  an  easy  matter  to  cite  illustrious  exam 
pies  of  how  earth's  great  captains  have  conquered  advers 
conditions  and  scored  a  great  though  belated  triump] 
simply  because  they  would  not  yield.  But  we  need  no 
appeal  to  them.  Fixity  of  purpose,  a  will  that  clings  wit! 
teeth  and  claws,  that  calls  into  service  every  mental  de 
vice  and  power  is  essential  to  success  in  the  hour  of  stud; 
as  well  as  in  the  hour  of  battle,  to  the  success  of  the  bare 
foot  boy  as  well  as  to  that  of  the  warrior. 

The  desire  to  have  hold  of  a  bull-frog  is  likely  t 
be  strong  in  every  boy  that  has  ever  heard  one  sing.  Bu 
not  every  boy  gets  his  desire.  A  squad  of  boys  may  thro^ 
sticks  and  stones  and  roil  the  water  of  the  pond.  Bui 
while  they  may  all  be  gifted  with  equal  powers  of  devisinj 


THE  PETRIFIED  WILL ;  HABITUAL  MASTERY     255 

means  to  ends,  they  are  not  equally  endowed  with  the 
tendency  to  cling  to  a  purpose  through  failure.  The  de- 
sire for  a  bull-frog  may  be  stronger  in  some  than  in 
others,  but  that  does  not  determine  who  will  stay  longest 
at  the  pond.  The  boy  who  first  suggested  catching  one 
may  be  the  first  to  leave.  They  may  all  straggle  home 
and  leave  behind  the  lad  who  at  first  felt  the  least  de- 
sire for  a  bull-frog.  He  may  not  be  impulsive  or  enthusi- 
astic; his  feelings  are  slow  in  growing.  But  his  will  is 
like  a  steel  trap ;  it  can  shut,  but  it  cannot  open. 

All  the  efforts  of  the  crowd  have  only  made  his  task 
more  hopeless;  because  the  water  is  disturbed  and  so 
are  the  feelings  of  the  frogs.  They  grasped  the  mean- 
ing of  the  situation  quicker  than  the  boys,  and  hid.  But 
this  boy  has  learned  some  important  things;  he  knows 
now  how  not  to  catch  a  bull-frog.  He  seems  to  have  no 
equipment  left  except  the  desire  and  the  will,  and  failure 
for  experience.  But  for  him  there  is  only  one  desire, 
and  he  has  a  will  that  never  whiffles.  That  combination 
lays  under  tribute  the  highest  and  best  thinking  of  which 
the  mind  is  capable. 

When  the  sun  has  gone  down  and  supper  time  is 
past;  when  the  mud  has  settled  to  the  bottom  of  the 
pond  and  the  water  is  clear  again;  when  the  moon  is  up 
and  the  frogs  are  singing,  that  boy  plods  home.  He  is 
dirty,  wet  and  hungry  and  has  evil  forebodings  of  what 
is  in  store.  But  there  is  a  kicking  bull-frog  in  his  hand, 
and  that  is  enough.  He  does  not  know  what  part  the 
frog  can  play  in  appeasing  the  wrath  to  come,  but  he 


256  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

will  offer  him  in  evidence  and  yield  him  up  in  sacrifice. 
It  is  not  the  frog  alone,  but  the  triumph  that  bears  him 
up  and  makes  him  think  it  was  worth  while. 

Of  course,  it  may  well  be  admitted  that  there  is  a 
limit  to  the  exercise  o'f  a  stubborn  will.  Will  and  wis- 
dom sometimes  part  company,  and  it  becomes  a  nice 
question  as  to  when  to  use  discretion  and  quit.  Person- 
ally, I  have  seen  so  much  failure,  due  to  lack  of  stubborn 
purpose,  and  have  so  carefully  studied  the  failures  and 
triumphs  of  students,  that  I  prefer  the  stubborn  will, 
even  though  it  sometimes  brings  disaster.  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that  no  disaster  this  side  of  death  is  irretriev- 
able ;  and  such  a  will  can  use  disaster  to  retrieve  success. 

Brilliant  scholars  are  always  charming  in  a  teacher's 
eyes ;  but  I  think  their  value  is  mostly  temporary.  Brill- 
iant scholarship  is  no  sign  of  coming  success  unless  the 
character  that  possesses  it  is  also  endowed  with  great 
executive  force,  with  a  strong  and  finely  tempered  will 
that  never  breaks.  But  nature  does  not  often  make  this 
combination.  While  one  has  a  fine  head,  some  other  fel- 
low, with  a  somewhat  duller  head,  may  have  the  necessary 
streak  of  stubbornness  and  the  power  to  act.  And  the  lat- 
ter wins — not  the  prizes  in  school,  but  those  of  practical 
life,  and,  in  the  end,  those  of  sound  scholarship,  too. 
All  the  "self-made"  men  and  women  are  endowed  with 
powerful  wills  coupled  with  resourcefulness.  They  have 
used  the  usually  moderate  gifts  of  nature  so  effectively 
that  they  have  outstripped  and  now  outshine  many 
brighter  minds  who  had  opportunity  thrust  upon  them. 


THE  PETRIFIED  WILL;  HABITUAL  MASTERY     257 

I  had  two  students  under  observation  at  the  same 
time  for  two  years.  Both  had  had  about  the  same  oppor- 
tunities, but  one  was  quick  and  the  other  slow.  The  one 
could  learn  a  thing  while  the  other  was  getting  ready. 
But  the  genius  never  learned  to  overcome  anything  that 
he  did  not  like.  He  never  voluntarily  removed  an  obstacle, 
but  always  sought  to  avoid  it.  Each  year  he  encountered 
something  that  did  not  suit  his  taste.  In  things  that 
he  liked  he  was  a  master;  from  everything  else  he  asked 
to  be  excused. 

Slow-In-The-Head  was  not  master  of  anything.  He 
had  a  clear  mind,  but  had  to  work  for  everything  he  got. 
But  he  made  a  fight  out  of  everything  that  he  undertook. 
Pugnacity  seemed  to  be  a  ruling  trait  with  him.  The 
first  few  weeks  of  his  new  school  life  looked  to  others 
like  weeks  of  agony.  But  he  never  asked  for  a  truce  nor 
for  time  to  catch  his  breath.  When  '^brighter"  students 
complained  that  they  were  driven  with  work,  and  he  was 
asked  his  opinion  of  the  matter,  he  only  said,  with  a  sug- 
gestive snap  of  his  hard-set  lower  jaw,  "I  have  no  kick  to 
make." 

Both  entered  college.  The  bright  student  went 
home  in  a  few  weeks,  by  invitation,  because  at  college 
they  did  not  drive  students  to  things  they  did  not  like, 
and  he  would  not  drive  himself.  The  other  is  a  college 
man — an  honor  to  himself  and  to  everyone  who  helped 
him  get  an  education.  Moderate  intellectual  powers 
coupled  with  a  dogged  disposition  to  accomplish  some- 
thing, with  big  fighting  and  small  dodging  powers,  fur- 
nish the  best  material  for  a  really  solid  character. 


258  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

A  burning-glass  in  motion  never  set  fire  to  anything. 
But  even  a  lens  of  ice,  held  steady,  will  make  a  fire. 
There  is  little  use  to  talk  about  training  the  attention, 
memory,  and  powers  of  observation,  unless  the  will  is 
trained  to  keep  a  strong  and  steady  hold  upon  the  move- 
ments of  the  intellectual  life.  And  I  believe  that  all  men 
and  women  who  are  not  mentally  defective  are  capable 
of  training  their  wills.  A  few  are  so  strongly  endowed 
by  nature  with  the  gift  of  habitual  mastery  that  they 
seem  to  need  no  training.  They  are  the  born  leaders. 
They  throw  all  who  come  in  contact  with  them  at  once 
into  the  subordinate  attitude  of  helpers.  But,  while  the 
world  needs  and  uses  these  gifted  leaders,  the  individual 
student  is  under  obligation  to  learn  to  lead  himself,  to 
cultivate  the  spirit  of  habitual  mastery,  until  prompt  and 
effective  action  upon  every  subject  and  occasion  becomes 
the  normal  individual  trait. 

There  is  an  unwritten  law  on  the  farm  which  says  that 
the  older-brother  may  drive  the  horses  and  that  the  younger 
brother  shall  jump  off  the  wagon  and  open  the  gates  and 
bars.  Sometimes  the  younger  brother  is  one  of  the  gifted 
ones,  and  raises  his  head  of  dominion  above  the  rest  of 
the  family.  But  such  occasional  exceptions  only  prove 
the  terrible  strength  of  the  law  that  one  shall  lead  and 
the  other  follow.  It  is  a  law  of  brute  as  well  as  of  human 
life — this  law  of  leadership.  When  once  it  is  accepted, 
disputes  disappear,  responsibility  is  concentrated,  and 
more  and  better  work  is  done. 

But  what  about  the  younger  boy,  who  is  handicapped 


THE  PETRIFIED  WILL ;   HABITUAL  MASTERY     259 

by  the  fate  of  birth  ?  It  is  a  small  matter  that  he  should 
have  to  forego  the  proud  pleasure  of  driving  the  horses 
except  when,  in  a  spirit  of  benevolence,  the  older  brother 
makes  concessions.  With  the  privilege  of  mastery  goes 
the  weight  of  responsibility.  When  there  is  hard  work, 
the  older  brother  has  to  do  the  hardest  part  of  it.  When 
there  is  perplexity  or  danger,  he  has  to  make  the  deci- 
sions, take  the  initiative  and  see  that  all  goes  well.  He 
is  the  last  to  enter  school  in  the  fall  and  the  first  to  leave 
it  in  the  spring.  His  education,  apparently,  is  sadly  sac- 
rificed to  the  interests  of  the  family. 

Nobody  sees  what  has  been  done  to  the  younger 
brother.  When  the  leader  leads,  the  others  cease  to 
think.  This  is  not  due  to  lack  of  capacity,  but  to  lack 
of  opportunity.  Yielding  the  mastery  to  others,  even 
though  it  may  not  breed  personal  weakness,  makes  the 
individual  defenseless  from  lack  of  practice.  This  fact 
is  not  impressive  until  the  leader  is  removed.  Kill  the 
leader  and  the  herd  of  elk  will  mill ;  and  while  it  is  wheel- 
ing round,  the  whole  herd  can  be  killed  by  a  single  man 
before  another  leader  is  developed.  This  is  the  interval 
of  disaster — the  time  when  the  habit  of  following  works 
havoc  and  reveals  the  greatness  of  the  weakness.  When 
the  older  brother  is  withdrawn  the  younger  one  tastes 
the  bitter-sweets  of  leadership  without  training. 

The  same  truth  holds  good  for  nations.  When  the 
Romans  withdrew  from  Britain,  after  four  hundred  years 
of  mastery,  the  natives  had  lost  the  art  of  self-help,  and 
were  at  the  mercy  of  invaders.  Their  appeal  for  help 


260  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

was  pitiful.  They  had  lost  capacity  for  initiative  and 
leadership,  and  the  development  of  it  seemed  out  of  the 
question.  Many  a  nation  has  suffered  terribly  in  war 
while  it  was  going  through  the  intermediate  agony  of 
developing  real  leaders.  "There  is  always  a  man  for  the 
crisis" — proof  of  slumbering  capacity  repressed  by  fixed 
conditions.  But  the  punishment  that  comes  to  the  na- 
tion while  it  is  training  its  leader  is  a  fearful  price  to  pay. 

It  takes  many  years  of  harsh  experience  in  later  life 
for  a  younger  brother  to  overcome  the  effect  of  the  rela- 
tion that  he  bore  in  boyhood  to  a  competent  older  brother. 
When  he  goes  from  home  the  spirit  of  dependence  and 
hesitation  follows  him  till  he  has  learned  how  to  exercise 
his  judgment  and  will  effectively.  He  may  have  more  of 
the  learning  gained  from  books,  but  in  the  serious  crises 
of  life  that  confront  them  both,  it  is  the  older  brother 
who  sets  his  sound,  cool  judgment  to  work  and  enters 
upon  steady  and  vigorous  action  that  makes  things  come 
out  right,  while  his  younger  and  perhaps  more  gifted 
brother  is  hesitating.  There  is  a  vast  difference  between 
book-learning  and  personal  power. 

The  heaviest  emphasis  throughout  this  whole  book 
has  been  on  the  necessity  for  cultivating  clear  and  ac- 
curate thinking.  A  good  memory  and  all  the  other  de- 
sirable mental  traits  shall  be  added  unto  him  that  trains 
himself  to  clear  and  cautious  thought.  That  is  the  first 
requisite  for  an  intellectual  life.  The  second  is  like  unto 
it :  habitual  mastery,  the  power  and  chronic  habit  of  carry- 
ing into  execution  the  vigorous  thought  in  spite  of  ob- 


THE  PETRIFIED  WILL;  HABITUAL  MASTERY    261 

stacles  and  so-called  impossibilities.  The  will  is  the  back- 
bone of  the  character.  If  that  is  a  cotton  string,  there 
may  be  ever  so  much  capacity  for  absorbing  knowledge, 
but  no  use  will  be  made  of  it. 

There  can  be  no  hope  of  a  well-regulated  life,  no 
assurance  of  habitual  success,  unless  the  will  is  trained 
to  act  regularly,  steadily,  vigorously,  to  act  promptly  and 
persistently  upon  a  well-considered  plan,  and  to  brush 
difficulties  aside  as  incidents  subordinate  to  the  main 
issue. 

This  training  must  begin  by  acting  out  one's  thought, 
even  if  the  action  seems  ever  so  crippled  at  first.  The 
power  to  do  increases  with  the  doing.  In  the  silence  of 
the  years  will  grow  up  a  character  that  feels  the  constant 
joy  of  accomplishment.  The  moral  culture  that  comes 
from  such  training  of  the  will  can  never  be  taken  away. 
The  man  is  never  the  same  again  after  a  period  of  con- 
stant, earnest,  obstinate  effort.  Through  the  vista  of 
the  years  he  can  see  the  growth  of  personal  power,  of 
whose  development  he  may,  at  the  time  of  its  growth, 
have  been  entirely  unaware. 

The  object  of  all  this  exercise  of  will  is  to  train  it  to 
act  promptly  and  confidently,  not  merely  in  the  pres- 
ence of  oft-repeated  difficulties,  where  habit  will  come  to 
its  aid;  but  to  act  in  the  same  way  when  face  to  face 
with  new,  unusual  difficulties.  If  one  has  the  necessary 
confidence  and  willingness  within  him  to  meet  a  great 
difficulty  at  a  single  impact,  all  after-action  becomes 
easy.  Shall  a  small  boy  plant  his  feet  cautiously  in  the 


262  THE    ART   OF    STUDY 

edge  of  the  river,  dip  up  a  handful  of  water  and  wet  his 
arms,  "to  get  used  to  the  cold,"  or  shall  he  jump  from 
the  spring-board  and  go  in  head  first,  leaving  no  time 
for  the  long-drawn-out  agony  of  getting  wet?  Shall  the 
will  remove  such  difficulties  piece-meal,  and  so  develop 
the  habit  of  shivering  at  the  thought  of  action,  or  shall  it, 
when  the  decision  is  made,  brush  aside  the  difficulties  by 
shortening  them? 

I  like  the  story  of  young  Fred  Ouillette,  "pilot  and 
son  of  a  pilot  ....  a  hero  to  the  boys  of  Montreal,  a 
figure  to  be  stared  at  always  by  anxious  passengers." 
Cleveland  Moffett  told  it  in  St.  Nicholas  for  April,  1901, 
and  it  has  in  it  the  secret  of  the  making  of  a  man,  the 
explanation  of  how  habitual  mastery  is  made  easy. 

In  Canada,  the  land  of  pilots  and  hardy  watermen, 
"there  are  not  ten — perhaps  not  six — men  to-day,  French 
or  English  or  Indian,  who  would  dare  the  peril"  of  shoot- 
ing the  Lachine  Rapids  at  Montreal  with  a  steamer-load 
of  passengers.  Fred  Ouillette  is  one  of  the  six.  Moffett 
talked  with  him  about  it  and  tells  what  the  pilot  said. 

"He  emphasized  this,  for  instance,  as  essential  in  a 
man  who  would  face  that  fury  of  waters  with  many  lives 
in  his  keeping:  he  must  not  be  afraid.  One  would  say 
that  the  rapids  feel  where  the  mastery  is,  whether  with 
them  or  with  the  pilot,  and  woe  to  him  if  pounding  heart 
or  wavering  hand  betray  him.  The  rapids  will  have  no 
mercy.  And  there  are  pilots,  it  appears,  who  know  the 
Lachine  Rapids,  every  foot  of  them,  and  could  do  Ouil- 
lette's  work  perfectly  if  Ouillette  were  standing  near,  yet 


THE  PETRIFIED  WILL ;  HABITUAL  MASTERY     2«3 

would  fail  entirely  if  left  alone.  Every  danger  they  can 
overcome  but  the  one  that  lies  in  themselves.  They 
cannot  brave  their  own  fear.  He  cited  the  case  of  a 
pilot's  son  who  had  worked  in  the  Lachine  Kapids  for 
years,  helping  his  father,  and  learned  the  river  as  well 
as  a  man  can  know  it.  At  the  old  man's  death,  this  son 
announced  that  he  would  take  his  father's  place,  and 
shoot  the  rapids  as  they  always  had  done;  yet  a  season 
passed,  then  a  second  season,  and  always  he  postponed 
beginning,  and,  with  one  excuse  or  another,  took  his  boats 
through  the  Lachine  Canal,  a  safe  but  tame  short  cut, 
not  likely  to  draw  tourists. 

"  'Not  start  heem  right,  that  f adder/  said  Ouillette. 
'Now  too  late.  Now  nevair  he  can  learn  heem  right/ 

"  'Why,  how  should  he  have  started  him  ?'  I  asked. 

"  'Same  way  like  my  fadder  start  me/  And  then,  in 
his  jerky  Canadian  speech,  he  explained  how  this  was. 

"Ouillette  went  back  to  his  own  young  manhood,  to 
the  years  when  he,  too,  stood  by  his  father's  side  and 
watched  him  take  the  big  boats  down.  What  a  picture 
he  drew  in  his  queer,  rugged  phrases!  I  could  see  the 
old  pilot  braced  at  the  six-foot  wheel,  with  three  men 
in  oilskins  standing  by  to  help  him  put  her  over,  Fred 
one  of  the  three.  And  it  was  'Hip !'  'Bas  P  'Hip  !'  'Bas !' 
(IJp!'  'Down!'  Tip!'  'Down!')  until  the  increasing  roar 
of  the  cataract  drowned  all  words,  and  then  it  was  a  jerk 
of  shoulders  or  head,  this  way  or  that,  while  the  men 
strained  at  the  spokes.  Never  once  was  the  wheel  at 
rest  after  they  entered  the  rapids,  but  spinning,  spinning 


264  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

always,  while  the  boat  shot  like  a  snake  through  black 
rocks  and  churning  chasms. 

"They  used  to  take  the  boats — as  Ouillette  takes 
them  still — at  Cornwall,  sixty  miles  up  the  river,  and, 
before  coming  to  Lachine,  would  shoot  the  swift  Coteau 
Rapids,  where  many  a  life  has  gone,  then  the  terrifying 
Cedar  Rapids,  which  seem  the  most  dangerous  of  all,  and 
finally,  the  Split-rock  Rapids,  which  some  say  are  the 
most  dangerous.  And  each  year,  as  the  season  opened, 
Fred  would  ask  his  father  to  let  him  take  the  wheel  some 
day  when  the  river  was  high  and  the  rocks  well  covered, 
and  the  boat  lightly  laden,  wishing  thus  to  try  the  rapids 
under  the  easiest  conditions.  But  his  father  would  look 
at  him  and  say:  'Do  you  know  the  river,  my  son?  Are 
you  sure  you  know  the  river  ?*  And  Fred  would  answer : 
'Father,  I  think  I  do/  For  how  could  he  be  sure  until 
he  had  stood  the  test? 

"So  it  went  on  from  year  to  year,  and  Ouillette  was 
almost  despairing  of  a  chance  to  show  himself  worthy  of 
his  father's  teaching,  when,  suddenly,  the  chance  came 
in  a  way  never  to  be  forgotten.  It  was  late  in  the  sum- 
mer, and  the  rapids,  being  low,  were  at  their  very  worst, 
since  the  rocks  were  nearer  the  surface.  Besides  that, 
on  this  particular  day  they  were  carrying  a  heavy  load, 
and  the  wind  was  southeast,  blowing  hard — the  very  wind 
to  make  trouble  at  the  bad  places.  They  had  shot 
through  all  the  rapids  but  the  last,  and  were  well  below 
the  Lachine  bridge  when  the  elder  Ouillette  asked  the 
boy,  'My  son,  do  you  know  the  river?' 


THE  PETRIFIED  WILL;   HABITUAL  MASTERY     265 

"And  Fred  answered  as  usual,  without  any  thought 
of  what  was  coming  next,  'Father,  I  think  I  do/ 

"They  were  just  at  the  danger-point  now,  and  all 
the  straining  waters  were  sucking  them  down  to  the  first 
plunge. . 

"  'Then  take  her  through/  said  the  old  man,  stepping 
back;  'there  is  the  wheel/ 

"'My  f adder  he  make  terreble  thing  for  me — too 
much  terreble  thing/  said  Ouillette,  shaking  his  head  at 
the  memory. 

"But  he  took  her  through  somehow,  half  blinded  by 
the  swirl  of  water  and  the  shock.  At  the  wheel  he  stood, 
and  with  a  touch  of  his  father's  hand  now  and  then  to 
help  him,  he  brought  the  boat  down  safely.  There  was 
a  kind  of  Spartan  philosophy  in  the  old  man's  action. 
His  idea  was  that,  could  he  once  make  his  son  face  tjie 
worst  of  this  business  and  come  out  unharmed,  then  never 
would  the  boy  know  fear  again,  for  all  the  rest  would 

be  easier  than  what  he  had  already  done Fred 

Ouillette  has  been  fearless  in  the  rapids  ever  since." 

Courage  and  force  of  will  can  be  made  a  habit  as  well 
as  giving  attention.  Quality  of  action,  like  quality  of 
thought,  is  the  final  test  of  manhood.  A  well-trained 
will,  like  a  well-trained  horse,  never  leaves  a  load  where 
it  found  it.  It  neither  hunts  difficulties  nor  dodges  them. 

There  is  one  quality  of  the  will  that  has  not  yet 
been  mentioned.  The  universe  goes  on  in  rhythmic  pulses. 
Work  and  rest  alternate.  The  mind  that  has  learned  to 
take  a  prompt  and  vice-like  grip  upon  a  task  needs  to 


266  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

learn  to  let  entirely  go  of  it  at  intervals.  Some  minds 
get  into  the  state  of  one  who  has  grasped  the  poles  of  a 
powerful  electric  battery.  When  once  they  take  hold  of 
a  subject,  they  cannot  let  go  again.  Some  fatal  force 
holds  them  there.  The  child  that  has  become  so  keyed 
up  that  it  does  not  stop  its  play  when  tired,  but  goes  on 
and  on  by  sheer  tension  of  the  nerves,  finally  finds  relief 
in  collapse  and  a  fit  of  crying.  The  statesman  or  busi- 
ness man  who  at  night  cannot  let  go  of  the  problems  that 
he  handles  by  day,  will  pay  the  price  with  insomnia.  His 
relief  comes  by  collapse  and  prolonged,  enforced,  and 
unprofitable  idleness.  The  student,  too,  who  carries  the 
thought  of  his  work  wherever  he  goes,  who  carries  his 
text-books  to  a  concert,  who  does  not  have  regular  periods 
of  stress  and  relief,  in  whom  there  is  no  well-marked 
pulse  of  action  and  repose,  governed  by  an  efficient  will, 
can  never  hope  for  the  genuine  pleasures  that  come  of 
normal,  healthy  action  of  either  mind  or  body. 


THE   FEELINGS  267 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE   FEELINGS. 

We  have  hitherto  tried  to  answer  the  question,  "How 
train  the  mental  powers,  and  how  carry  thought  into  ac- 
tion?" In  other  words,  we  have  dealt  with  method,  but 
have  said  practically  nothing  about  the  material  of  life — 
the  kind  of  thoughts  it  is  best  to  think  and  the  kind  of 
action  that  constitutes  a  successful  life.  Now  that  the 
development  of  capacity  has  been  discussed,  the  book 
might  be  closed.  But  the  principles  that  have  been  laid 
down  are  just  as  applicable  to  the  making  of  a  first-class 
rascal  as  to  the  development  of  personal  worth  and  up- 
rightness. I  have  some  strong  convictions  about  the  rela- 
tive value  of  ability  and  character;  and  the  rest  of  the 
book  will  be  devoted  to  a  discussion  of  the  materials  of 
life. 

Our  feelings  are  our  masters.  It  is  not  worth  while 
here  to  raise  the  nice  point  as  to  which  comes  first — 
thought  or  feeling.  All  we  need  to  accept  now  is  the 
fact  that  thought  and  action  and  feeling  all  react  on  and 
influence  one  another.  Feelings  are  produced  by  inward 
thought  or  outward  influences,  and  they  in  turn  start 
our  thought  and  action.  The  outward  life  and  the  in- 
ward thought  may  be  described,  in  a  large  sense,  as  a 


268  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

continuous  effort  to  express  the  feelings.  The  feelings, 
the  sentiments,  lie  close  about  the  roots  of  conduct. 
Schiller  quaintly  put  feeling  in  the  foreground  of  human 
life  when  he  said,  "While  philosophers  are  disputing  about 
the  government  of  the  world,  Hunger  and  Love  are  per- 
forming the  task."  Feeling  is  really  the  fundamental 
fact,  and  intellect  and  will  are  its  servants.  The  culti- 
vation of  the  feelings  is  therefore  at  least  as  important 
as  the  cultivation  of  the  other  mental  powers  by  means 
of  which  we  gratify  and  give  expression  to  them. 

If  there  is  to  be  calmness  of  spirit  and  effectiveness 
in  the  conduct  of  life,  there  must  be  a  standard  of  feeling. 
The  question,  at  least  with  the  serious  student,  is,  shall 
his  feelings  be  a  succession  of  momentary  passions  and 
temporary  enthusiasms,  like  the  snapping  and  crackling 
and  flashing  of  burning  leaves  and  twigs,  followed  by  dull 
and  ashy  reaction  ?  Or  shall  they  be  the  deep  and  steady 
feelings  that  accompany  deep-rooted  principles  of  life, 
that  never  flare,  but  burn  and  smolder  steadily  beneath 
the  surface,  unnoticed  by  spectators,  like  the  burning  of 
the  deep  forest  soil  after  the  surface  fire  has  rushed  past 
and  gone  out? 

It  has  been  found  necessary  repeatedly  in  the  course 
of  this  book,  to  emphasize  the  contrast  between  minds 
swayed  by  the  immediate  temporary  interests  of  the  hour 
or  the  day  and  minds  that  are  steadily  dominated  by  per- 
manent interests.  The  one  kind  of  life  is  an  impulsive, 
nn.sruided  career.  The  other  kind  aims  at  definite,  far- 
reaching  results,  and  all  the  personal  powers  and  all  out- 


THE   FEELINGS  269 


ward  circumstances,  are  forced  to  contribute  toward  the 
accomplishment  of  those  definite  ends.  In  the  latter  case 
there  is  likely  to  be  a  wholesale  sacrifice  of  present  temp- 
tations, pleasures,  and  successes,  a  rejection  of  immediate 
results  in  favor  of  others,  more  ideal  and  distant.  Such 
choice  of  the  more  permanent  interests  of  life  and  the 
sacrifice  of  temporary  successes,  usually  has  a  profound 
effect  on  the  feelings  and  results  in  a  rapid  development 
of  character. 

It  often  happens,  of  course,  that  such  a  choice  even, 
may  be  bad.  Many  men  bend  the  energies  of  a  lifetime 
and  spend  the  hard-earned  competence  of  a  whole  family 
to  satisfy  the  spirit  of  revenge.  Some  great  wrong,  com- 
mitted by  another,  stirs  into  activity  the  fires  of  a  ven- 
geance that  never  burns  low  till  ruin  lies  like  a  black  pall 
over  the  lives  of  both  the  aggressor  and  the  aggrieved. 
The  feelings  of  pride,  doubt,  revenge,  malevolence  and  all 
their  like  may  be  as  firmly  intrenched  in  the  life  and 
govern  its  whole  course  as  completely  as  humility,  faith, 
forgiveness  and  benevolence. 

Selfishness  and  sympathy,  meanness  and  justice,  hate 
and  love,  do  not  rule  a  life  together.  One  or  another  is 
likely  to  become  permanent.  In  a  mind  governed  by  the 
nobler  permanent  interests  there  may  be  violent  whirl- 
pools of  feeling,  due  to  constitutional  defects  or  extraor- 
dinary combinations  of  exciting  circumstances,  but  the 
current  of  feeling  recovers  itself  and  follows  a  steady 
course.  If  the  choice  is  a  good  one,  the  spirit  of  self- 
control  increases  with  every  sacrifice  that  is  made  of  a 


270  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

present  pleasure  to  a  future  good.  A  great  difference 
in  quality  of  character  between  a  shiftless,  impulsive,  in- 
consequent individual  and  one  whose  conduct  is  outlined 
for  a  lifetime  is  not  only  steadiness  of  purpose  in  the 
latter,  but  great  steadiness  of  the  feelings. 

Nature  will  have  the  toll  for  the  force  that  she  ex- 
pends. Wild  enthusiasm  and  the  fierce  flaring  of  passion 
must  be  atoned  for  by  despondency  and  pain.  If  the  pen- 
dulum is  touched  it  will  swing  both  ways.  Many  a 
thoughtful  mother  dreads  to  hear  immoderate  laughter 
accompany  the  play  of  her  little  brood,  for  she  knows, 
as  well  as  the  philosopher  knows  what  the  pendulum  will 
do,  that  pain  and  weeping  follow  close  on  its  heels.  The 
law  of  action  and  reaction  is  the  law  that  governs  the 
feelings,  too.  Mild  alternations  of  the  gay  and  the  grave 
are  pleasurable;  the  extremes  cause  the  pain. 

But  even  the  life  of  impulse,  of  feeling  uncontrolled 
by  the  large  and  permanent  hopes  and  beliefs  of  a  life- 
time, is  better  than  one  in  which  feeling  is  present  but 
leads  to  no  action  at  all.  It  is  possible  to  let  the  feel- 
ings play  and  be  worked  upon  until  action  becomes  prac- 
tically impossible.  Chronic  novel-readers  often  weep 
over  fictitious  woes  of  imaginary  heroes  and  heroines, 
but  have  no  feeling  whatever  stirred  in  them  by  actual 
want  or  suffering  or  the  patient  heroism  of  life.  Feeling 
has  so  long  failed  to  lead  to  action,  that  action  is  repug- 
nant; the  life  goes  up  in  the  smoke  of  ineffectiveness. 
Incompetence  is  characteristic  of  this  type.  The  victim 
seeks  the  excitements  of  imaginary  tragedy  and  comedy 


THE    FEELINGS  271 

in  order  to  create  the  feelings  he  desires.  The  feeling 
is  the  total  reward;  and  the  slavery  is  as  hopeless  and 
degrading  as  that  of  the  morphine  fiend  who  slinks  into 
an  alley  or  hallway  to  "take  the  shot"  that  reawakens 
his  dormant  dreaming  powers. 

The  day-dreamer,  too,  is  the  hopeless  victim  of  feel- 
ing that  finds  no  expression  in  activity.  He  conjures  up 
his  rosy  dreams  again  and  again  for  the  sake  of  the  feel- 
ings that  accompany  them.  And  when  once  this  habit 
has  fixed  itself  upon  him,  there  is  less  hope  for  him  than 
for  the  dry  bones  in  the  valley  of  Ezekiel's  vision.  Noth- 
ing but  the  hard,  unfeeling  knocks  of  a  relentless  world 
can  reawaken  a  spirit,  thus  enthralled,  to  healthier  sym- 
pathy for  the  real  things  of  life.  One  who  wants  to  make 
himself  intellectually  effective  has  to  see  to  it  that  his 
feelings  are  not  left  to  the  control  of  pure  imagination 
but  that  they  shall  be  harnessed,  as  a  working  force,  with 
his  thinking  and  willing  powers,  into  a  team  that  shall 
deal  directly  with  realities. 

But  we  need  to  return  once  more  to  the  "impulsive 
life."  It  is  not  enough  that  the  feelings  shall  spend 
themselves  on  real  things,  and  lead  to  some  sort  of  action. 
The  chances  always  are,  that  action  dictated  by  uncon- 
trolled impulse,  will  do  more  injury  than  good.  A  parent 
may  ruin  a  child  by  a  "quick  succession  of  kicks  and 
kindness,"  each  of  them  dictated  by  the  spontaneous  feel- 
ing of  the  moment;  while  similar  treatment,  distributed 
with  reference  to  the  real  deserts  of  the  child  instead  of 
the  impulses  of  the  parent  might  do  real  good. 


272  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

The  silly  woman  that  carries  flowers  to  a  murderer's 
cell,  and  the  insane  mob  that  takes  him  from  jail  and 
hangs  him,  are  very  much  alike.  There  is  no  balance- 
wheel  of  judgment,  no  steadying  influence  of  clearly 
thought-out  principles.  Feelings  hold  ungoverned  sway; 
and  action  follows  directly  upon  impulse.  The  woman's 
lack  of  a  large,  correct  view  of  life,  the  absence  of  the 
sense  of  justice  to  counterbalance  sympathy,  results  in 
failure  to  pick  out  the  one  really  entitled  to  sympathy. 

The  mob  is  no  better  than  the  man  it  hangs.  His 
perverse,  ungoverned  feelings  spurred  him  to  do  murder, 
and  theirs  do  likewise.  Indignation  over  crime  is  a  very 
creditable  feeling  and  one  that  well  becomes  a  decent 
citizen.  But  reverence  for  law  and  faith  in  the  power  of 
the  community  to  deal  with  crime  are  absent  in  the  mob ; 
there  is  no  counter-irritant  for  the  wild  feeling  of  indig- 
nation and  it  becomes  ungovernable.  Sensible  action  can 
result  only  from  a  steady  interplay  of  feelings  which 
modify  and  balance  each  other  and  give  judgment  an  op- 
portunity to  consider  the  merits  of  the  case  at  issue. 
Civic  responsibility  is  so  greatly  diluted  in  a  republican 
commonwealth  that  there  is  not  connected  with  it  any 
permanent  feeling  powerful  enough  to  lead  the  individual 
to  steady  action  looking  toward  the  improvement  of  ju- 
dicial methods.  Instead  of  untying  the  Gordian  knot, 
he  cuts  it.  Instead  of  acting  under  the  quieter  desire  for 
peace  and  order  he  gives  way  to  a  violent,  barbaric  feel- 
ing which  leads  him  to  do  violence  as  bad  as  that  he  seeks 
to  punish. 


THE    FEELINGS  273 

A  man  may  have  very  powerful  feelings,  and  yet  his 
conduct  be  noble  and  judicious.  If  violent  feelings  lead 
to  violent  action  it  is  not  alone  because  of  the  force  of 
the  feelings,  but  because  other  feelings  that  would  easily 
counteract  them  have  not  been  cultivated.  A  violent, 
unbroken  colt  can  be  managed  in  a  team,  if  there  is  a 
steady,  well-trained  horse  on  the  other  side  of  the  wagon- 
tongue.  But  in  the  absence  of  the  steady  horse  there  will 
surely  be  a  runaway.  So  with  the  citizen.  In  quiet 
times  he  is  indifferent  to  the  enforcement  of  the  law, 
so  he  does  not  develop  a  feeling  of  reverence  for  it ;  and 
that  is  why,  when  the  excitement  comes,  he  is  not  himself 
a  law-abiding  citizen.  There  is  feeling  enough,  but  it  is 
misplaced  and  unbalanced. 


274  THE   ART    OF    STUDY 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

SCIENCE  CULTURE  AND  FEELING. 

There  is  another  phase  of  the  subject  of  feeling  that 
is  of  great  interest  to  the  student.  He  may  become  one 
of  the  class  who  devote  themselves  exclusively  to  one  line 
of  activity.  The  result  of  this  concentration  is  usually 
the  shrivelling  of  the  greater  number  of  the  noble  feelings 
that  give  life  such  pleasing  variety.  Monotony  of  inter- 
est results  in  monotony  of  feeling;  and  there  is  a  tend- 
ency to  one  of  two  extremes.  A  single,  great  feeling  de- 
velops in  connection  with  the  subject  on  which  the  mind 
is  concentrated  and  overwhelms  and  unbalances  the  life, 
or  all  feeling  dies  out  and  the  life  is  left  cold  and  blood- 
less. 

I  do  not  believe,  as  many  people  think,  that  deep  and 
constant  devotion  to  one  line  of  thought  necessarily  tram- 
ples the  power  of  feeling  into  the  dust.  The  classical  ex- 
ample of  single  hearted  devotion  to  a  great  subject  in  the 
past  generation  has  been  Charles  Darwin.  In  youth  he 
loved  music,  but  in  later  life  lost  all  taste  for  it.  He 
devoted  a  long  life  filled  with  physical  suffering  to  the 
establishment  of  great  scientific  principles ;  and  from  his 
experience  it  has  been  argued  that  science  blights  the 
noble  feelings  that  are  fed  by  the  fine  arts. 


SCIENCE   CULTURE   AND   FEELING  275 

But  I  believe  the  true  explanation  is  that  the  love 
of  music  died  in  him,  not  because  he  devoted  himself 
to  scientific  subjects,  but  because  he  did  not  attend  to 
music.  Pleasures  die  with  the  possessions  that  gave  them 
birth.  If  the  joys  of  life  all  flow  from  money,  they  dis- 
appear with  its  loss.  The  despair  which  results  is  due  to 
the  lack  of  other  interests,  which,  if  they  were  present 
in  the  mind,  might  still  make  life  well  worth  living. 

Darwin  is  not  the  only  man  of  science  who  has  wit- 
nessed in  himself  the  loss  of  some  of  the  feelings  that  fill 
life  with  sunshine.  Karl  Von  Baer,  the  father  of  em- 
bryology, a  man  of  keen  intellect,  well-balanced  powers 
and  broad  sympathies,  susceptible  to  all  the  finer  feelings 
of  humanity,  records  of  himself  the  same  neglect  of  the 
brighter  things  of  life  and  its  effect  on  him.  He  went 
outside  the  walls  of  the  town  one  day  and  found  men 
harvesting  in  the  fields.  Then  it  dawned  on  him,  that  in 
his  devotion  to  the  infant  science  of  embryology,  he  had 
not  set  foot  outside  the  walls  during  the  whole  of  spring 
and  summer.  The  grain  had  been  sown  and  the  fields 
had  turned  first  green,  then  golden,  without  his  knowing 
or  thinking  about  it.  But  he  had  been  a  country  boy, 
and  feeling  for  nature's  beauty  was  not  yet  dead  in  him. 
He  lay  down  and  wept  over  what  he  had  missed  in  life, 
and  asked  himself  whether  he  was  doing  the  best  for  him- 
self. The  question  came  to  him,  whether  it  was  worth 
while,  for  his  own  sake  or  that  of  the  world,  that  he 
should  stunt  his  life  in  order  to  find  out  a  few  more  facts 
about  the  development  of  animals.  Would  not  the  world 


276  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

find  it  all  out  sooner  or  later,  even  if  he,  the  great  loser, 
did  a  little  less,  if  he  did  not  sacrifice  all  the  beauty  and 
pleasure  of  life  ?  That  day  was  a  revelation  to  him.  Be- 
fore Von  Baer  had  worn  out  his  life  and  lost  the  powei 
to  be  a  wholesome  man,  he  abandoned  his  professorship 
and  went  back  into  the  wide,  heaving,  breathing,  feeling 
world  and  tasted  the  gifts  of  a  rugged,  vital  life  as  an 
expert  government  explorer. 

Those  who  lose  their  lives  in  the  loss  of  their  highei 
sensibilities  are  themselves  to  blame.  They  devote  theii 
energies  to  a  single  subject  and  make  no  allowance  foi 
the  rhythmic  movement  of  work  and  pleasure,  effort  and 
repose,  struggle  and  peace  that  normally  controls  the  life 
of  men  and  animals.  Feeling  must  be  freshened.  Ever 
a  tired  and  exhausted  laborer  returns  to  his  work  in  the 
morning  with  feelings  different  from  those  with  which  h< 
left  it  the  night  before.  His  work  has  not  changed ;  bui 
it  looks  different  to  him  because  he  has  changed.  H< 
has  rested  and  been  about  other  things,  and  now  it  ie 
a  little  new  to  him  again. 

Feeling  gives  fertility  to  thought  and  a  healthy  glo'vi 
to  conduct.  But  constant  devotion  to  a  single  subjecl 
never  did  anything  but  blast  the  wholesome  feelings 
This  stripping  the  actual  life  of  all  feeling  is  usuallj 
done  unconsciously  and  not  with  malice  aforethought, 
But  time  works  fatal  changes  in  us  that  we  are  entirety 
unaware  of.  Neither  science,  nor  any  other  one  subject 
can  be  both  work  and  play  for  a  soul  that  does  not  wanl 
to  shrivel.  In  fact,  the  more  deeply  science  digs,  the 


SCIENCE   CULTURE    AND   FEELING  277 

more  need  for  the  light  of  a  joyous  life.  Neither  sci- 
ence nor  art  by  itself  can  build  a  symmetrical  life. 

Science,  for  example,  can  write  an  accurate  defini- 
tion of  a  tree :  "A  perennial  woody  plant  having  a  single, 
self-supporting  stem  or  trunk,  the  whole  being  not  less 
than  twenty  or  twenty-five  feet  in  height."  This  defini- 
tion is  the  result  of  much  deep  thought.  But  in  order 
to  make  the  definition,  the  beauty  and  grace  and  strength 
of  individual  trees  all  had  to  be  eliminated.  Who  ever 
had  a  pulse  of  feeling  beat  within  him  from  contem- 
plating such  a  definition  ?  A  half-grown  boy  might  suffer 
some  feeling  in  connection  with  it:  perplexity  at  not 
understanding  it,  or  disgust  at  the  necessity  of  attending 
to  such  an  emaciated  ghost  of  a  thing. 

But  he  knows  the  difference  between  a  shrub  and  a 
white  birch  tree,  even  if  he  cannot  understand  the  defini- 
tion. That  birch  tree  was  made  to  try  the  souls  of  boys. 
Every  shivering  leaf,  every  rag  of  fluttering,  papery  bark 
is  calling  him  wkh  a  living  voice — no  need  of  a  definition 
here — to  climb  the  single  difficult  stem  to  a  height  of 
more  than  twenty  feet.  If  he  is  a  real  boy  he  will  try 
to  climb  that  tree.  That  is  life  welling  forth  from  a 
fountain  of  feeling.  The  pale  light  of  science  is  a  poor 
substitute  for  the  light  of  human  sunshine. 

For  the  scientific  man  or  student  or  business  man 
who  is  under  the  constant  temptation  to  concentrate  his 
efforts  closely  and  constantly  upon  one  thing,  the  only  safe 
course  is  the  cultivation  of  numerous  permanent  interests 
that  appeal  to  the  higher  sentiments.  Frivolity  and  dis- 


278  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

sipation  give  relief  from  the  mental  tension  due  to  long 
and  intense  application,  but  they  leave  no  pleasant  after- 
taste, no  desirable  effect  upon  the  character.  The  sound- 
est pleasures  are  connected  with  the  permanent  interests 
of  life.  The  relaxations  of  culture  leave  the  mind  and 
body  fresh.  They  make  all  things  look  new. 

As  we  pass  on  through  the  thickets  of  experience,  and 
growing  knowledge  ripens  into  wisdom,  a  silent  but  pro- 
found change  is  bound  to  come  over  all  the  sensibilities. 
What  once  roused  anger  or  admiration,  hope  or  courage, 
no  longer  does  so  under  the  more  penetrating  gaze  of  a 
mature  intellect.  It  no  longer  gives  the  satisfaction 
that  it  once  gave.  But  while  time  subdues  the  feelings, 
it  is  disastrous  to  have  them  aborted.  A  confidence  that 
there  is  good  in  what  has  passed  and  more  good  in  what  is 
yet  to  come  must  pervade  the  mind  of  him  who  would 
ripen  well  in  the  autumn  of  life.  A  broad  outlook  upon 
life,  sympathy  for  and  insight  into  the  work  and  wants 
of  others,  in  other  fields  of  activity,  are  essential  to  the 
retention  of  sound  feeling  as  life  slips  through  the  fin- 
gers. The  greater  the  necessity  one  is  under  to  concen- 
trate all  his  activity  in  one  pursuit,  the  more  essential  it 
is  that  the  sunshine  and  showers  of  right  feeling  should 
not  be  omitted;  and  they  come  only  with  the  cultivation 
of  the  nobler  interests  of  life. 

It  may  be  true  that  sound  judgment  and  broad  cul- 
ture, while  they  widen  the  scope  of  the  feelings,  also 
weaken  them  in  some  respects.  Some  of  our  most  gen- 
erous acts  can  be  performed  only  while  our  general  no- 


SCIENCE   CULTURE   AND   FEELING  279 

tions  are  immature.  Two  men  walk  down  the  same  street. 
The  first  drops  a  nickel  into  every  beggar's  hat.  He  feels 
generous  and  acts  promptly.  Both  he  and  the  beggar 
have  an  immediate  reward  of  pleasant  feeling.  But  his 
acts  have  no  lasting  qualities,  and  neither  do  his  feel- 
ings. His  conduct  will  vary  sadly  even  in  different  parts 
of  the  same  day;  and  in  time  he  may  altogether  lose  his 
interest  in  the  business  of  giving.  He  may  suspect  after 
a  while  that  he  has  been  helping  rascals  and  turn  ugly 
toward  the  begging  business. 

The  other  man  drops  never  a  nickel  in  any  beggar's 
hat.  He  may  be  just  as  deeply  anxious  to  help  a  little 
in  life's  struggle,  but  he  loses  the  passing  pleasure  be- 
cause he  knows  too  much.  He  is  guided  by  broad  prin- 
ciples of  charity  and  realizes  that  such  giving  does  more 
harm  than  good.  He  knows  that  charity  organizations  can 
care  for  all  in  real  distress ;  that  some  beggars  get  more  by 
begging  than  other  men  do  by  honest  labor ;  that  in  giving 
promiscuously  he  would  only  be  helping  to'  blight  the 
spirit  of  self-help.  He  may  give  ten  times  as  much 
through  charity  organizations  as  the  other  man  gives  di- 
rectly ;  but  he  seems  to  be  at  a  great  disadvantage.  Look- 
ing, as  he  does,  farther  into  the  future,  to  the  ultimate 
effects  of  his  acts,  he  destroys  the  spectacular  element 
of  giving.  His  premeditation  seems  to  destroy  feeling. 

But  in  suppressing  impulse  and  foregoing  the  little 
passing  pleasures  of  self-sacrifice,  he  is  laying  the  founda- 
tion of  a  life-long  interest.  As  the  fruit  of  his  conduct 
ripens  slowly,  the  pleasure  in  it,  instead  of  being  fitful, 


280  THE    ART   OF    STUDY 

is  steady  and  increases  as  the  years  go  by.  There  is 
abundant  compensation  of  feeling  to  him  who  is  willing 
to  make  it  cluster  round  great  interests.  But  it  re- 
quires self-control  and  steadfastness  of  spirit.  It  is  easier 
to  take  the  present  pleasure  and  let  the  future  take  care 
of  itself. 

A  poor  man  in  New  York  city  faithfully  does  a  piece 
of  work.  When  he  seeks  to  collect  the  bill,  he  is  abused 
and  defrauded  of  his  pay.  What  can  he  do?  Might 
makes  right.  The  amount  is  too  small  to  justify  legal 
proceedings,  and  he  cannot  afford  to  employ  counsel; 
and  in  the  end  he  would  be  beaten  by  the  sheer  process  of 
wearing  out.  What  can  a  true  citizen  do  to  help  this 
case?  He  cannot  afford  to  take  up  the  legal  struggle; 
and  he  cannot  bear  to  leave  the  man  helpless.  By  giving 
him  the  much  needed  money  trouble  is  avoided,  relief  is 
given,  and  the  feelings  of  sympathy  are  gratified.  But  all 
these  effects  are  temporary.  The  permanent  effects  are 
as  follows: 

One  more  rascal  has  been  victorious  and  will  regard 
his  policy  as  a  successful  one.  One  more  poor  man  has 
been  made  to  feel  the  twinge  that  goes  with  accepting 
what  has  not  been  earned — the  loss  of  pride,  the  sting 
of  beggary,  the  conviction  that  there  is  no  justice  on  earth 
for  the  poor.  One  more  philanthropist  has  added  to  his 
experience  another  element  of  gloom,  reenforced  the 
feeling  that  might  makes  right — and  received  the  thanks 
of  a  crest-fallen  honest  man.  The  total  permanent  effect 
is  bad— on  the  loser,  the  winner  and  the  giver. 


SCIENCE  CULTURE  AND  FEELING  281 

Bnt  there  is  another  way,  that  appeals  to  other  feel- 
ings and  deals  out  justice  as  well  as  mercy.  Jacob  Riis, 
who  has  shown  how  a  noble  life  may  be  moulded  with 
nothing  but  a  clear  head,  a  sound  heart  and  willing  hands, 
has  described  that  other  way.  It  is  a  <flaw  hospital"  that 
enforces  the  honest  claims  of  defrauded  poor  men.  The 
philanthropist  can  contribute  toward  its  fighting  fund. 
The  poor  man  gets  his  own,  keeps  his  self-respect  and 
carries  away  the  feeling  that  justice  is  not  blind  to  the 
rights  of  the  poor ;  the  rascal  pays  his  debt,  suffers  defeat, 
and  is  made  to  philosophize  anew  on  the  old  adage  that 
honesty  is  the  best  policy ;  the  philanthropist  has  a  broader 
outlook,  a  postponed  but  deeper  pleasure,  and  the  feeling 
that  he  is  an  element  in  the  mighty  forces  that  are  work- 
ing toward  the  realization  of  justice  and  righteousness — 
the  highest  ideals  of  the  race. 

The  principle  that  I  have  tried  to  bring  out  with 
illustrations  drawn  from  the  field  of  philanthropy  holds 
true  for  all  the  phases  of  human  activity.  Quietness, 
dignity,  lasting  quality,  can  be  given  to  the  feelings  only 
by  setting  up  standards  that  will  still  be  bearing  fruit  in 
the  autumn  of  life.  The  sentiments  of  purity,  truth, 
faith,  benevolence,  justice,  are  likely  often  to  receive 
severe  shocks,  but  if  the  individual  is  equipped  with  high 
ideals  the  sense  of  permanence  and  triumph  will  underlie 
feeling,  thought  and  conduct 


THE   ART   OF   STUDY 


CHAPTER  XXVm. 

IDEALS. 

Milton  wrote  to  Hartlieb:  "I  call,  therefore,  a  com- 
plete and  generous  education  that  which  fits  a  man  to 
perform  justly,  skillfully  and  magnanimously,  all  the  of- 
fices, hoth  public  and  private,  of  peace  and  war."  That  is 
a  comprehensive  definition  of  a  good  education.  It  in- 
cludes everything  that  can  give  strength  and  nobility  to 
the  individual — permanent  courage,  good  citizenship,  good 
morals,  willingness  to  serve  and  suffer  for  the  good  of  men 
and  of  the  nation.  Something  more  will  be  said  here- 
after about  the  difference  between  ability  and  the  pur- 
pose that  is  in  the  heart  of  a  man;  and  it  has  been  al- 
ready sufficiently  emphasized  that  conduct  is  profoundly 
affected  by  keeping  the  thought  centered  on  the  higher 
and  permanent  interests  of  life.  Our  effective  ideals 
can  be  read  out  of  the  conduct  of  our  lives.  All  that 
we  do  is  circumstantial  evidence  of  what  we  think  and 
believe. 

But  ideals,  to  be  effective,  must  receive  some- 
thing more  than  mere  acknowledgment  that  they 
are  good.  The  old  Scotchman's  version  of  St.  Paul's 
doctrine  is:  "What  I  would  do,  I  couldna',  and 


IDEALS 


283 


what  I  could  do,  I  wouldnaV  One  can  easily  admit 
that  justice,  honesty,  purity,  truth,  are  good,  and  at  the 
same  time  he  unjust,  dishonest,  vile  and  false.  If  our 
ideals  are  to  be  of  any  value,  the  feelings  must  cluster 
closely  round  them.  There  must  be  not  only  assent  to 
their  value,  but  conviction  that  they  are  right  for  each 
particular  individual,  and  that  it  is  necessary  to  live  them 
and  uphold  them.  It  is  not  so  difficult  a  thing  as  it  might 
appear,  to  acknowledge  and  believe  one  thing  and  do  the 
opposite.  Whether  one  shall  really  live  up  to  his  ideals 
depends  on  whether  his  feelings  are  under  the  control  of 
those  ideals. 

The  planting  of  standards  of  living  and  belief,  of 
righteousness,  purity,  truth,  and  all  the  better  senti- 
ments, in  the  soil  of  the  feelings  is  therefore  a  matter 
of  deep  concern.  Now  a  fine  sentiment,  a  noble  ideal, 
cannot  be  implanted  in  a  soul  by  an  argument,  no  matter 
how  logical.  Ideals  have  to  grow;  and  they  grow  slowly, 
like  the  woody  fibre  of  a  tree.  They  are,  as  it  were,  the 
permanent  sediment  of  our  thinking  and  acting;  they  are 
what  is  left  to  us  after  our  separate  experiences  are  over 
with. 

There  has  been  no  end  of  testimony  to  the  effect  that 
we  grow,  rather  than  allow  ourselves  to  be  argued,  into 
the  permanent  states  of  mind  which  we  call  our  working 
ideals.  The  best  Christians  are  those  who  were  born  and 
brought  up  in  Christian  homes.  Their  moral  fibre  is 
made  out  of  Christian  ideals.  There  is  no  serious  con- 
flict of  motives,  no  terrible  warfare  of  the  feelings  for 


284  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

supremacy,  because  to  such  a  mind  there  is  almost  only 
one  possible  view  of  life. 

Those  who  have  the  best  control  of  their  mother 
tongue,  who  are  most  sensitive  to  offenses  against  good 
literary  taste  and  to  the  beauties  of  style  are  the  men 
and  women  who  grew  up  in  an  atmosphere  of  culture. 
They  use  good  language  as  naturally  as  they  eat  their 
food.  They  do  not  know  any  better  (or  worse)  than 
to  speak  and  write  well.  The  soundest  excuse  for  what 
we  do  and  the  way  we  do  it,  is  that  we  do  it  the  way  we 
learned  it.  Habit,  the  burden  of  the  first  chapter  in  the 
book,  still  has  its  heavy  hand  upon  us  here.  "Train  up 
a  child  in  the  way  he  should  go,  and  when  he  is  old,  he 
will  not  depart  from  it."  In  such  a  one  there  is  perfect 
harmony  among  his  ideals,  feelings  and  actions ;  and  there 
is  likely  to  be  less  need  of  repentance  than  among  those 
who  live  part  of  their  lives  under  the  guidance  of  one 
set  of  ideals  and  the  rest  of  it  under  another  set.  The 
circle  of  his  thought  is  large,  his  sympathies  are  wide, 
the  sense  of  duty  strong,  so  that  he  throws  off  temporary 
evil  easily — gloom,  passion,  hatred,  pride — and  steadily 
absorbs  the  good.  This  breadth  and  harmony  of  thought 
and  feeling  arc  the  surest  pledge  of  spiritual  success. 
They  fix  in  the  life  the  feeling  that  "all  is  well." 

This  all  means,  of  course,  that  the  best  time  to  adopt 
ideals  is  in  childhood,  when  we  are  least  able  to  compre- 
hend them.  Such  a  doctrine  seems  like  an  intellectual 
outrage.  But  it  is  just  as  well  to  yield  our  consent  to 
it,  because  it  is  the  principle  on  which  human  life  is  con- 


IDEALS 


285 


ducted.  The  acts  of  our  childhood  and  youth  are  the 
most  far-reaching  acts  of  our  lives.  We  choose  our  hus- 
bands and  wives  and  our  professions  without  the  light  of 
experience.  All  the  most  influential  habits  are  fully 
developed  while  judgment  is  most  immature.  So,  in 
spite  of  the  gravity  of  the  matter,  it  is  hardly  worth 
while  to  consider  the  doctrine  that  it  is  best  to  postpone 
the  adoption  of  ideals  until  maturity  and  of  professions 
until  old  age,  for  meanwhile  we  die. 

It  is  true  of  all  our  standards,  that  if  they  are  to 
be  the  sure  and  safe  guides  of  conduct,  they  must  become 
woven  into  our  inmost  being;  they  must  grow  into  the 
life  instead  of  being  driven  into  it,  like  a  knife  or  a  bullet, 
from  the  outside.  They  must  represent  not  merely  be- 
liefs that  are  acknowledged  to  be  good,  they  must  be 
modes  of  conduct.  Childhood,  youth,  and  the  few  first 
years  of  young  manhood  and  womanhood  are  the  only 
years  in  which  either  mind  or  body  grow.  The  years  will 
bring  greater  strength  and  riper  judgment,  but  the  face 
and  form  of  the  body  are  made  for  life,  and  so  are  the 
prospects  of  the  spirit. 

Ideals  can  never  be  two-faced.  In  a  normal  life 
there  cannot  be  one  set  of  principles  to  guide  by  day  and 
another  to  guide  by  night,  one  mode  of  life  on  duty  and 
another  on  vacation.  Neither  is  there  any  period  in  life 
when  ideals  can  be  laid  aside  or  thrown  to  the  winds, 
with  the  expectation  that  they  can  be  calmly  resumed  at 
pleasure.  There  is  a  widespread  belief  that  it  does  no 
serious  permanent  harm  for  a  young  man  to  make  a 


286  THE    ART   OF    STUDY 

fool  of  himself  for  a  few  years;  that  the  chances  are 
always  good  that  he  will  recover.  This  easy  faith  in 
Mother  Nature's  patience  is  badly  misplaced.  Human 
fathers  and  mothers  are  often  more  blissfully  ignorant  of 
the  real  lives  that  their  sons  and  daughters  are  leading 
than  any  other  people  on  earth.  And  even  when  they 
know  a  little  of  what  is  going  on  within  and  without,  they 
condone  the  faults  and  feel  sure  that  maturity  will  bring 
the  youngsters  back  to  their  senses.  But  Mother  Nature 
is  neither  blind  nor  ignorant;  and  she  neither  will  nor 
needs  to  condone  anything.  She  cripples  or  kills  such  men, 
because  she  prefers  the  other  kind  and  has  plenty  of  in- 
dividuals to  draw  from. 

She  neither  teaches  nor  practices  the  doctrine  that 
youth  can  throw  the  nobler  sentiments  to  the  winds  and 
indulge  the  passions  for  a  time  and  that  afterwards  the 
spirit  may  recover  itself  and  grow  into  a  desirable  ma- 
turity. She  knows  that  this  doctrine  is  as  false  a  guide 
as  the  will-o'-the-wisp  on  the  dank,  dark  marsh.  She 
provides  no  moral  acids  that  will  remove  the  stains  and 
the  stench  of  misconduct. 

A  limb  may  die  on  a  green  tree,  it  may  break  off 
and  even  the  knot  may  rot  away.  If  the  tree  is  young 
and  vigorous  the  sore  place  may  heal  over  with  new  wood 
and  bark,  so  that  nothing  shows  of  the  old  defect.  But 
there  is  a  rotten  hole  inside.  The  flaw  may  never  show 
again;  but  if  the  wind  breaks  that  tree  it  will  break  at 
the  rotten  place.  And  anyway,  the  ax  of  the  woodsman 
will  reveal  the  written  record  when  it  lays  the  tree  low. 


IDEALS  287 

Somewhere  and  somehow  every  violation  of  the  normal 
growth  will  tell  its  gruesome  tale  because  it  has  made 
a  scar,  a  constitutional  weakness. 

To  every  one  who  succumhs  in  youth  to  physical,  in- 
tellectual and  moral  folly,  and  sows  wild  oats,  one  of  two 
things  will  happen  in  later  life.  After  the  period  of  un- 
wholesome living,  he  either  will  not,  or  he  will  adopt  and 
struggle  toward  the  realization  of  pure  ideals.  If  he 
does  not,  he  may  still  cease  all  gross  misconduct  hecause 
it  is  no  longer  worth  while.  He  may  pass  for  a  decent 
citizen  and  do  no  injury  to  the  morals  of  a  younger 
generation  by  example.  But  the  music  of  his  life  is  full 
of  the  minor  tones  of  moral  discord.  His  attitude  toward 
moral  questions,  the  suggestiveness  of  his  language,  all 
point  to  the  slimy  record  left  inside.  Thousands  of  such 
men  are  outwardly  classed  as  decent  citizens  because 
they  are  outside  of  jail.  But  they  are  best  kept  away 
from,  when  it  is  possible  to  identify  them. 

If  after  a  period  of  folly  there  is  a  real  revival  or 
new  growth  of  better  sentiment,  the  case  is  one  worthy 
of  the  most  profound  sympathy.  The  greater  part  of  a 
really  educated  man's  activity  takes  place  inwardly.  The 
better  part  of  his  life  consists  of  reflection.  This  man 
never  forgets.  He  would  be  willing  to  shed  his  blood  for 
the  privilege  of  washing  out  the  memory  of  his  evil  deeds. 
The  more  sensitive  he  grows,  the  more  he  curses  the  day 
he  went  astray.  He  cannot  get  away  from  himself,  and 
his  very  ideals  become  the  judges  that  condemn  his  rec- 
ord. As  Babbage  has  put  it  in  that  splendid  old  book, 


288  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

the  Ninth  Bridgewater  Treatise,  "It  is  remarkable  that 
those  whom  the  world  least  accuses,  accuse  themselves  the 
most,  and  that  a  foolish  speech,  which  at  the  time  of 
its  utterance  was  unobserved  as  such  by  all  who  heard 
it,  shall  yet  remain  fixed  in  the  memory  of  him  who  pro- 
nounced it,  with  a  tenacity  which  he  vainly  seeks  to  com- 
municate to  more  agreeable  subjects  of  reflection."  The 
terrible  after-taste  of  evil-doing  is  most  sickening  to  him 
in  whom  the  character  has  afterwards  grown  purest  and 
noblest.  Reminiscence  is  painful  in  proportion  as  the 
record  is  stained  with  misconduct;  and  the  life  that  has 
gone  through  folly  in  youth  and  then  recovered  itself  is 
doomed  to  permanent  secret  sadness. 

Youth  cannot  violate  the  laws  of  purity  and  upright- 
ness and  expect  old  age  to  make  it  right.  Repentance 
does  not  change  the  record.  A  part  of  the  tree  of  life 
is  sacrificed.  If  the  feelings  are  early  fettered  to  ideals 
of  peace  and  purity,  good-will,  justice,  uprightness  and 
benevolence,  and  there  is  no  shock  or  disturbance  of  their 
mutual  growth  there  will  be  a  life  of  deep  and  perma- 
nent tranquility  beneath  the  superficial  turbulence  of  cir- 
(ii  ni stances.  That  life  will  be  a  wholesome  influence  in 
the  chaotic  jostle  of  human  struggle,  full  of  hope  and 
faith  that  truth  will  triumph  and  that  all  is  well. 


SOME    ELEMENTS   OF   CHARACTER  289 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

SOME  ELEMENTS   OF   CHARACTER. 

The  most  consummate  villain  furnishes  just  as  good 
material  for  the  study  of  psychology  as  the  noblest  saint. 
It  is  in  the  practical  use  of  the  mental  powers  that  char- 
acter is  involved.  All  living  nature  is  endowed  with 
the  fundamental  desire  to  secure  what  is  pleasant,  but 
character,  good  character,  for  no  other  is  relevant  in  this 
discussion,  is  built  not  upon  what  is  pleasant,  but  upon 
a  clear  recognition  of  what  is  good,  a  complete  accept- 
ance of  it  and  a  life  whose  acts  are  controlled  by  it. 

An  anonymous  poet  has  sung: 

"Sculptors  of  life  are  we,  as  we  stand, 
With  our  lives  uncarved  before  us, 
Waiting  the  hour  when,  at  God's  command, 
Our  life  dream  passes  o'er  us. 
Let  us  carve  it  then  on  the  yielding  stone/' 

The  sentiment  is  good,  but  it  does  not  give  us  full 
credit  for  our  real  condition.  The  sculptor,  when  the 
angel  dream  comes  o'er  him,  can  choose  the  finest  marble 
in  which  to  do  his  carving.  His  inspiration  might  burn 
very  low  if  he  were  given  no  choice  of  materials  and  were 
told  to  take  a  block  of  coarse-grained  granite  or  even 


290  THE    ART   OF    STUDY 

a  piece  of  bass-wood  and  give  expression  to  his  beautiful 
vision.  When  it  comes  to  shaping  character,  we  are 
placed  here  without  choice  of  material  or  tools  with  which 
to  carve  a  seemly  life.  Our  mental  powers  and  capacity 
for  feelings  are  foreordained  for  us.  The  circumstances 
in  which  we  shall  find  our  ideals  and  give  expression  to 
them  are  not  of  our  choosing. 

But  we  make  the  fatal  mistake  in  losing  courage  and 
deciding  to  be  nobody  in  particular  because  we  think  the 
marble  of  Pentelicus  or  Carrara  is  the  only  fit  material 
for  carving.  A  prisoner,  when  he  craves  to  do  some- 
thing, can  make  some  wonderful  things  with  nothing  but 
a  cracker-box  for  material  and  a  common  nail  for  a  tool. 
One  who  craves  to  know  the  exact  structure  of  an  ani- 
mal, can  make  a  better  dissection  with  a  toothpick  and 
a  common  jack-knife  than  any  other  fellow  can  with  an 
elegant  set  of  tools. 

"The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars, 
But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings." 

It  is  not  the  poor  materials  and  tools  that  were  given 
us  to  work  with, — the  mediocre  mental  and  physical  gifts 
— that  cause  the  real  trouble.  It  is  lack  of  desire  and 
purpose  to  use  what  we  have.  Marble  makes  a  goorl 
statue,  but  granite  makes  a  good  keystone.  And  here  lies 
the  real  test  of  solid  worth.  Genius  may  do  wonder- 
ful things,  but  it  usually  fits  but  ill  into  the  solid  masonry 
of  life  and  is  poor  material  from  which  to  carve  a  char- 
acter. 


SOME    ELEMENTS    OF   CHARACTER  291 

It  is  the  poor  use  that  is  made  of  the  gifts  we  have 
that  causes  all  the  trouble.  A  carpenter  who  "measures 
hy  guess  and  saws  by  guess"  cannot  hold  his  job  one  day. 
He  does  more  harm  than  good.  He  wastes  material  and 
only  gets  in  the  way.  A  carpenter's  wand  is  his  foot- 
rule.  With  it  he  secures  symmetry,  proportion,  accuracy, 
saves  his  time  and  his  material,  and  turns  out  a  satis- 
factory job.  He  has  a  standard  to  go  by.  He  uses  that 
same  standard  in  all  his  work,  everywhere  and  always.  A 
distinction  is  often  drawn  between  the  exact  sciences  and 
the  merely  descriptive  sciences,  much  to  the  apparent 
discredit  of  the  latter.  And  the  distinction  is  based  en- 
tirely on  the  fact  that  in  the  former, — physics,  and  the 
like, — it  is  possible  to  use  exact  standards  of  measure- 
ment to  work  with,  while  in  botany,  anthropology  and 
some  other  sciences  this  has  been  hardly  possible  hitherto. 
Governments  take  the  most  extreme  care  to  establish 
standards  of  weights  and  measures  and  to  preserve  as 
nearly  as  possible  perfect  models  for  purposes  of  com- 
parison. In  business  and  in  scholarship,  confidence,  se- 
curity, accuracy,  permanent  results,  require  fixed  stand- 
ards of  measurement,  whether  that  standard  is  a  good 
dollar,  a  foot-rule,  a  pound  weight  or  a  foot-pound.  It 
does  not  require  very  long  or  very  profound  thought  to 
realize  that  everywhere,  standards  of  measurement  are 
what  make  it  possible  to  do  business  quickly  and  on  a 
large  scale,  what  enable  men  to  know  at  every  step  the 
value  of  what  has  been  done  and  what  it  is  necessary  to  do 
next.  I  do  not  believe,  with  some  people,  that  the  ability 


292  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

to  measure  everything  exactly  constitutes  perfect  sci- 
ence or  perfect  business,  but  without  this  a  high  degree  of 
civilization  would  be  impossible. 

If  it  is  so  important  that  there  should  be  true  stand- 
ard pounds  and  yards  in  order  that  the  pennies,  in  busi- 
ness life,  shall  always  go  into  the  right  pocket,  how  can 
the  thoughtful  man  or  woman  hope  to  judge  the  acts 
of  others  correctly  or  to  check  and  guide  properly  his  own 
performance,  unless  he  has  clearly  thought-out  standards 
of  conduct  to  go  by,  standards  that  he  uses  always,  on 
himself  as  well  as  others.  The  lack  of  well-established 
and  fully  accepted  principles  of  conduct  is  what  causes 
us  to  be  at  one  moment  on  one  side  of  an  important 
question  and  the  next  moment  on  the  other  side.  We  do 
a  thing  confidently  and  afterwards  seriously  question  the 
value  or  propriety  of  the  act,  or  do  something  diametri- 
cally opposed  to  it  because  there  is  no  constant,  guiding 
principle.  We  fail  to  approve  our  own  acts  so  often  be- 
cause they  are  fastened  to  no  anchor  chain  of  principle. 

But  neither  the  standards  of  measurement  in  science 
and  business  nor  the  standards  of  conduct  used  in  the 
building  of  the  individual  character  are  determined  upon 
and  fixed  by  an  hour's  reflection  and  an  arbitrary,  off-hand 
decision.  They  are  the  slow  and  painful  work  of  years. 
The  carpenter's  feeling  toward  his  foot-rule,  his  appre- 
ciation of  its  value,  did  not  arise  from  his  merely  being 
told  that  it  is  a  unit  of  measurement,  but  from  practice 
in  the  use  of  it.  One  can  get  along  very  well  without 
a  pocket-knife;  the  feeling  that  it  is  indispensable  has 


SOME    ELEMENTS    OF    CHARACTER  293 

come  from  its  constant  use.  So  of  ideals,  beliefs  and 
sentiments.  They  come  to  be  established  in  the  mind, 
come  to  flourish  and  to  be  consistently  acted  upon  only 
as  their  worth  is  recognized  in  practice. 

It  is  not  enough,  either,  to  expect  these  things  to 
be  effective  in  life  unless  the  measuring  rods  of  principle 
are  used  in  silent  thinking  as  well  as  in  noisy  action. 
The  beauties  of  nature  are  made  possible  only  by  the 
silent  and  weariless  processes  that  precede  them.  They 
are  the  audible  and  visible  evidence  that  mighty  work 
has  been  done  in  silence.  There  could  be  no  rush  and 
roar  and  gleam  of  many  waters  if  the  powers  of  the  sun 
had  not  first  silently  lifted  the  invisible  mists  into  the 
sky  and  the  waters  had  not  first  gathered  silently  under- 
ground. And  so  it  is  only  when  the  strong  and  silent 
processes  of  the  mind  meditate  upon,  approve,  and  apply 
the  measuring  rods  of  the  moral  life  to  the  passing  events 
that  character  becomes  a  working  force. 

Much  is  said  about  the  good  man  and  the  good  citizen. 
But  the  goodness  of  most  men  is  negative.  They  do 
not  violate  the  moral  and  statute  laws  of  the  community ; 
they  are  good  because  they  keep  out  of  jail.  But  what 
active  force  of  character  does  the  average  citizen  wield? 
What  is  his  real  influence  in  the  formation  of  public 
opinion,  in  the  cultivation  of  powerful  sentiment  against 
wrong  and  in  favor  of  right  ?  How  powerful  is  the  sway 
of  the  average  good  citizen  over  the  thoughts  and  feelings 
of  his  own  family?  He  accepts  sound  principles  readily 
enough,  but  does  not  enforce  them  either  in  his  own 
private  or  public  life. 


2S4  THE   ART   OF    STUDY 

In  an  American  city  of  twenty-five  thousand  people, 
blessed  with  beauty  of  location  and  splendid  commercial 
opportunities,  a  city  in  which  the  "moral  element"  could 
in  twenty-four  hours  clean  out  the  Augean  stables  of 
political  and  social  filth,  a  minister  of  the  gospel  stood  up 
in  his  pulpit  not  long  ago  and  told  the  men  of  his  con- 
gregation, who  ranked  among  the  "best  and  most  influ- 
ential people"  of  the  place,  that  so  far  as  the  public  wel- 
fare was  concerned,  a  thousand  of  them  and  their  like 
could  leave  town  and  they  would  never  be  missed.  He 
told  them  a  sad  truth.  They  were  negatively  good 
enough,  but  they  lacked  potential.  Those  same  men 
could  be  excited  on  occasion.  They  might  even  help  to 
hang  a  vile  criminal;  but  there  is  no  thoughtful  connec- 
tion between  the  views  they  hold  and  their  private  and 
public  lives.  There  is  no  driving  force  of  a  vital  sense  of 
duty. 

It  is  not  enough  for  the  world  to  know  what  a  man 
can  do;  it  is  important  to  know  what  he  will  do.  A 
body  of  water  at  the  top  of  a  hill  has  potential;  if  it 
is  turned  loose  it  will  do  work.  At  the  bottom  of  a 
hill  it  is  nothing  but  a  mosquito  pond.  It  is  a  condi- 
tion of  moral  preparedness,  of  delicate  hair-trigger  ad- 
justment to  the  calls  of  duty  that  constitutes  a  wholesome, 
effective  character.  It  is  potential  manhood  and  woman- 
hood that  counts.  What  will  he  do  under  certain  condi- 
tions? The  whole  community  may  be  sure  that  a  man 
will  be  law-abiding,  but  the  question  is,  will  his  moral 
character  work?  Is  it  aggressive? 


SOME    ELEMENTS   OF   CHARACTER  295 

The  great  confidence  that  some  men  inspire  is  due 
to  the  fact  that  their  characters  are  positive.  They  leave 
the  impression  of  boundless  integrity.  Their  honesty  is 
energetic.  They  are  the  captains  of  finance  who  are  en- 
trusted with  the  wealth  of  others;  the  lawyers  that  are 
given  control  of  the  vital  interests  of  many  men  and 
women.  Their  integrity  is  not  a  variable  quantity;  they 
are  not  honest  in  great  things  and  pettifoggers  in  smaller 
ones.  They  are  actively  true  to  whatever  calls  for  their 
loyalty. 

It  may  seem  like  a  far  cry  from  a  great  lawyer  to  a 
plodding  student.  In  the  former  case  we  note  the  power 
that  he  wields  because  of  his  integrity.  At  the  student's 
stage  of  life  integrity  brings  no  rewards  of  money  and 
power.  It  would  seem  that  it  must  be  its  own  reward. 
But  quantity  of  results  in  the  end  depends  on  quality  of 
results  at  the  outset.  The  liar  and  thief  in  school  will 
be  a  liar  and  thief  in  practical  life.  He  may  condone 
his  acts  by  belittling  their  importance,  but  the  point  of 
the  business  comes  out  in  another  place.  The  writer  en- 
tertains the  hope  that  he  has  succeeded,  in  this  book,  in 
emphasizing  the  fact  that,  in  order  to  secure  the  most 
valuable  results  of  any  kind,  in  the  intellectual  life,  there 
must  never,  under  any  circumstances,  be  any  deviation 
from  the  correct  method,  when  that  is  once  recognized. 
And  this  is  far  more  vitally  true  of  the  moral  than  of  the 
purely  intellectual  phases  of  the  student's  life. 

In  nothing  that  the  student  does  will  he  do  his  best 
unless  he  does  it  honestly.  It  will  not  serve  him  well 


296  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

nor  bear  the  scrutiny  of  others  until  it  is  permeated  with 
the  moral  force  of  boundless  integrity.  If  he  will  look 
after  its  quality,  the  quantity  will  be  taken  care  of  by 
time.  What  he  needs  is  to  have  the  right  conception 
and  a  deathless  purpose  to  realize  it  in  action.  Ease,  fa- 
cility, speed,  all  the  elements  of  permanent  satisfaction 
in  any  line  of  work  or  conduct,  all  result  from  right  con- 
ception and  purpose.  They  can  no  more  be  retarded  or 
shut  out  than  the  falling  rain  drops  can  be  persuaded  to 
stay  in  the  sky  when  the  vapors  have  condensed. 

While  we  are  dealing  with  the  matter  of  integrity, 
it  may  as  well  be  pointed  out  that  the  student  is  often  ex- 
posed to  conditions  that  are  anything  but  uplifting.  The 
school  and  college  world  is  startled  every  now  and  then 
into  a  discussion  of  the  evils  of  students'  cheating;  and 
much  resonant  praise  is  given  to  the  "honor  system," 
wherein  every  student  is  given  free  rein  to  cheat  or  be 
honest,  as  he  chooses.  This  system  relieves  some  people 
from  the  performance  of  moral  duty,  but  does  not  improve 
matters.  It  is  safer  to  trust  a  bull-dog  with  a  pet  kitten 
than  to  put  a  thief  on  his  honor.  The  system  gives  the 
thief  free  rein  to  do  as  he  pleases  and  puts  the  honest 
student  at  a  disadvantage. 

The  honest  student's  attitude  on  this  question  is  im- 
portant. He  does  not  accuse  his  neighbors  of  treating 
him  like  a  thief  because  they  lock  their  doors  at  night. 
He  does  not  fly  into  a  passion  when  he  sees  a  policeman 
on  the  corner.  He  would  think  his  neighbor  foolish  for 
not  locking  his  door;  and  is  inclined  to  be  thankful  that 


SOME    ELEMENTS    OF   CHARACTER  297 

there  are  policemen.  Both  create  a  comfortable  atmos- 
phere for  the  honest  man,  by  making  life  hard  for  the 
thief.  And  when  the  school  or  college  teacher  makes 
provision  against  dishonesty  he  should  have  the  energetic 
support  of  every  honest  student.  The  individual  student 
is  morally  responsible  for  the  sentiment  that  exists  in 
school  or  college.  It  is  a  fact  that  "men  are  not  made 
honest  by  legislation/'  Legislation  is  for  the  protection 
of  those  who  are  honest.  Those  who  have  in  them  the 
promise  of  honesty  and  uprightness  are  entitled  to  the 
protection  of  so-called  moral  legislation.  It  is  the  stu- 
dent's business  to  help  make  honesty  the  normal  spirit  of 
conduct. 

No  man  or  woman  can  be  honest  in  some  respects 
and  dishonest  in  others.  There  sometimes  seems  to  be 
such  a  contradictory  state,  but  such  people  turn  honesty 
into  a  commercial  commodity.  He  who  cheats  in  school, 
does  not  cheat  and  steal  horses  out  of  school  because  it 
would  be  unprofitable.  He  is  an  opportunist;  he  cheats 
when  it  is  profitable  and  is  honest  when  that  is  profitable. 
He  makes  merchandise  of  moral  principles. 

Uprightness  of  character  is  based  on  something  more 
fundamental  than  particular  cases  of  honesty.  It  is  con- 
stant moral  motive  that  keeps  the  life  in  perfect  peace 
and  guides  conduct  safely  through  the  tangles  of  expe- 
rience. 

A  young  American  in  these  days  is  trained  to  do 
mostly  what  seemeth  good  in  his  own  eyes.  Independence 
of  judgment  and  conduct  is  more  characteristic  of  us  than 


298  THE    ART    OF    STUI)Y  * 

of  any  other  people  on  earth.  But  that  fact  carries  with 
it  a  terrible  responsibility.  The  attitude  of  mind  which 
the  student  makes  habitual  during  his  school  and  col- 
lege days  will  be  his  attitude  through  life.  If,  with  so 
great  liberty  of  thought  and  action,  there  does  not  go  a 
spirit  of  voluntary  obedience  to  authority,  of  hearty  ac- 
quiescence in  sound  moral  principles  and  a  desire  to 
make  them  effective  in  life  while  in  school,  the  mature 
man  will  find  himself  in  a  state  of  chronic  mental  rebellion 
against  the  best  standards  of  his  community,  and  will  be 
an  undesirable  citizen.  One  who  has  so  great  liberty  of 
thought  and  action  needs  to  be  deeply  imbued  with  the 
doctrine  formulated  by  Huxley,  that  we  have  only  one 
clear,  inviolable  right,  and  that  is  the  right  to  behave. 
The  spirit  of  resistance  to  written  or  unwritten  obliga- 
tions while  in  school  makes  men  and  women  who  are  in 
later  life  untrustworthy.  It  is  a  matter  of  grave  impor- 
tance to  the  development  of  character  to  learn  to  yield 
voluntarily  in  judgment  to  the  decisions  of  superiors.  In 
after  years  we  learn  that  the  judgment  of  our  elders,  based 
on  long  and  wide  experience,  has  no  counterpart  in  the 
minds  of  the  young  men  and  women  who  are  just  begin- 
ning to  try  their  powers  on  the  complicated  factors  of 
life. 

One  may  think  lightly  of  the  minor  matters  of  the 
irresponsible  period  of  school  life,  but  unless  the  indi- 
vidual is  guided  in  his  minor  as  well  as  in  his  major  acts 
by  sound  principles  he  will  surely  develop  the  moral  slov- 
enliness characteristic  of  so  many  men  and  women.  One 


SOME    ELEMENTS   OF    CHARACTER  299 

may  have  the  smallpox  and  still  live  and  be  healthy,  but 
the  pits  remain.  The  photographer  may  tell  one  more 
lie  by  removing  the  pits  from  the  negative  of  your  picture, 
but  he  cannot  remove  them  from  your  face.  It  is  that 
dreaded  moral  slovenliness,  disregard  for  truth  and  honor 
and  virtue,  without  being  actually  criminal  in  the  eyes 
of  the  statute  law,  that  makes  the  opinions  of  so  many 
men  and  women  two-faced,  their  influence  negative,  their 
lives  so  soggy,  so  unmusical.  If  character  is  to  have  ring- 
ing quality  it  must  be  made  of  the  bell-metal  of  sound 
principles,  and  the  casting  must  be  attended  to  with  care, 
from  start  to  finish.  Any  flaw  will  spoil  the  music. 


300  THE   ART    OF    STUDY 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

CONCLUSION. 

Nothing  has  been  said  in  this  book  about  what  a  stu- 
dent ought  to  study.  There  has  been  a  generation  of  end- 
less discussion  on  this  subject  by  the  teachers,  and  it 
will  doubtless  continue  to  be  talked  about  for  a  long  time 
to  come.  What  we  are  interested  in  now  is  the  method 
and  the  spirit  in  which  a  student  approaches  and  does  his 
work. 

The  trouble  with  the  masses,  even  of  educated  men 
and  women,  is  that  they  content  themselves  with  a  moun- 
tain of  memory  and  a  pinch  of  reason.  They  accept  the 
thought  of  others  in  prepared  packages  and  take  it  into 
their  systems  without  assimilating  it.  They  are  heavily 
weighted  with  well  organized  knowledge  and  noble  ideals 
that  have  no  real  bearing  or  effect  on  their  lives,  because 
they  were  accepted  without  exhaustive  thinking.  That 
is  why  it  is  so  exasperatingly  true  that  in  great  crises 
most  people  throw  their  beliefs  to  the  winds  and  act  upon 
the  powerful  feelings  that  happen  to  be  roused  at  the 
moment.  Thoreau  became  acquainted  with  a  wood-chop- 
per in  the  winter  snows  at  Waldeii  pond,  and  said  of  him, 
"I  occasionally  observed  that  he  was  thinking  for  himself 
and  expressing  his  own  opinion,  a  phenomenon  so  rare 


CONCLUSION  301 

that  I  would  any  day  walk  ten  miles  to  observe  it/'  The 
danger  to  students,  as  to  others,  is,  that  they  will  approve 
of  a  statement  of  fact  or  principle  and  handle  it  suffi- 
ciently to  remember  it  without  forcing  it  into  service, 
and  making  it  prove  its  worth  in  practice. 

Ignorance  is  no  bar  to  great  intellectual  power;  but 
carelessness  will  ruin  the  finest  work  of  the  greatest 
genius.  And  power  alone  will  not  yield  results  unless  it 
is  yoked  with  patience.  Desire  alone  is  a  sickly  compan- 
ion to  a  student  unless  he  cultivates  alongside  it  the  fight- 
ing qualities  that  make  acquisition  necessary  and  habitual. 

When  a  piece  of  work  is  done  one  may  feel  relieved 
at  the  thought  that  it  is  over  with.  So  much  the  ox  is 
capable  of.  When  the  yoke  is  taken  off  he  rubs  his  neck 
against  a  post,  and  lies  down  with  a  long  snoof  of  relief. 
But  any  human  workman  that  is  worthy  of  the  name  will 
experience  at  least  a  modest  thrill  of  satisfaction  that  he 
has  accomplished  something,  that  he  has  triumphed  over 
conditions  that  lay  before  him. 

But  there  is  an  attitude  of  mind  toward  work  before 
as  well  as  after  it  is  done.  The  contemplation  of  any 
kind  of  task  may  be  habitually  sickening;  the  student 
may  creep  to  his  work  when  goaded  by  time  and  stern 
necessity,  keeping  his  eyes  carefully  averted  from  its  at- 
tractive features.  Or  the  thought  of  coming  effort  may 
make  the  blood  mount  and  the  spirit  rise,  and  the  powers 
assert  themselves.  He  need  not,  at  the  scent  of  what  is 
coming,  paw  in  the  valley  and  mock  at  fear,  like  the  war- 
horse  in  the  book  of  Job,  nor  swallow  the  ground  with 


302  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

fierceness  and  rage,  and  smell  the  battle  afar  off.  But  if 
the  thought  of  coming  struggle  does  not  rouse  in  him 
the  best  qualities  of  a  vigorous  manhood  and  inspire  some- 
thing of  the  feeling  of  joy  that  comes  of  action,  there  will 
be  no  pleasure  in  the  work  itself  nor  satisfaction  in  the 
results. 

Anticipation  can  do  its  best  service  and  give  the  rosy 
glow  of  real  beauty  to  one's  life  only  if  it  is  kept  fixed  on 
the  common  affairs  that  are  directly  ahead.  It  is  the 
working  at  one  thing  and  letting  thought  and  anticipa- 
tion dwell  on  other  things — the  picnic  things  of  life — 
that  lends  dull  monotony  to  study,  that  makes  student 
and  workman  so  unreliable,  so  loath  to  begin  and  so  ready 
to  quit.  The  concentration  of  all  the  feelings  upon  the 
work  in  hand  is  what  produces  the  moral  energy  that  bat- 
ters down  difficulties.  Keen  attention  makes  the  driest 
subject  interesting.  Vigorous  effort  is  bound  to  produce 
buoyant  feeling.  No  matter  how  slow-minded  a  student 
may  be,  if  he  keeps  his  head  clear  by  active  thinking  and 
his  powers  at  work  by  a  strong  will,  he  is  bound  to  de- 
velop a  solid  and  masterful  personality. 

Not  genius,  but  the  willingness  to  struggle  and  the 
undying  hope  of  success  are  the  qualities  best  suited  to 
the  development  of  strong  manhood  and  womanhood.  It 
is  not  in  having  but  in  getting  that  the  pleasure  of  life 
is  found.  Nature's  first  commandment  in  the  decalogue 
of  success  is,  "Create  your  own  environment."  Accurate 
thinking  and  a  powerful  will  are  developed  only  in  the 
mill  of  life.  Self-command,  rightly  directed  power, 


CONCLUSION  303 

sound  judgment  and  right  ideals  are  not  given  to  heaven- 
born  genius ;  they  come  to  life  in  the  dust  and  sweat  of 
a  steady  struggle. 

It  is  not  so  much  what  a  man  works  at  as  the  way  in 
which  he  does  it  that  is  the  key  to  inward  approval  and 
outward  success.  There  is  charm  and  some  peace  and 
happiness  in  any  set  of  conditions  that  is  battled  with. 
Sit  down  and  wish  you  were  endowed  with  better  powers 
and  given  better  opportunities,  and  anything  you  touch 
will  be  "an  asinine  feast  of  sow-thistles  and  brambles." 
But  no  matter  how  heavy  the  handicap  of  circumstance, 
nor  how  dense  the  initial  ignorance,  nor  how  apparently 
weak  the  untrained  powers  may  be,  show  a  spirit  of  ha- 
bitual mastery,  and  I  will,  in  the  words  of  Milton, 
"straight  conduct  you  to  a  hillside,  where  I  will  point  you 
out  the  right  path  of  a  virtuous  and  noble  education ;  la- 
borious, indeed,  at  the  first  ascent,  but  else  so  smooth,  so 
green,  so  full  of  goodly  prospect,  and  melodious  sounds 
on  every  side,  that  the  harp  of  Orpheus  was  not  more 
charming." 

It  is  not  unusual  brain  power  that  makes  the  best 
student,  but  a  combination  of  strong  motive  and  strong 
will,  and  patient,  steady  action.  What  Huxley  said  of 
scientific  men  will  always  be  true  of  the  student.  "Truth 
has  yielded  herself  rather  to  their  patience,  their  love, 
their  single-heartedness,  and  their  self-denial,  than  to 
their  logical  acumen." 

Realization  never  comes  true  to  our  expectations.  We 
look  for  the  higher,  but  seem  to  grasp  only  the  lower  and 


304  THE    ART    OF    STUDY 

lesser  good.  By  middle  life  we  find  ourselves  where  the 
fondest  and  wildest  imaginings  of  our  youth  never  car- 
ried us.  But  power  is  cumulative,  whichever  way  we 
move.  Action  makes  action  easier.  Nature's  interest  is 
always  compound,  both  for  reward  and  punishment.  The 
dull  movement  of  a  student's  routine  life  seems  to  leave 
no  visible  trace,  but  Time  takes  care  of  the  single  blows 
that  are  given,  if  only  they  are  true  and  strong.  The 
hour-hand  of  fate  not  only  points,  but  moves.  The  silent 
years  make  clear  the  knowledge  that  was  dim,  and  strong 
and  accurate  the  powers  whose  existence  was  hardly  recog- 
nized. 


INDEX 


AGASSIZ,  Louis.— Interpretation  of  gla- 
cial phenomena,  197. 

AGONY  OF  STARTING.— The,  247  Mean- 
ing of  preliminary  failures,  247. 
The  perspective  of  time,  248. 
Dealing  with  obstacles  one  at  a 
time,  249.  Willingness  to  sacrifice 
expectation.  251. 

ALGEBRA.— Solution  of  problems  in,  204. 

ALPHABETICAL  ARRANGEMENTS. — 
Value  of,  140-143. 

AMERICA. — Freedom  of  thought  and 
action  in,  297. 

ANALYSIS  AND  SYNTHESIS  —Reciprocal 
elements  in  observation,  64-66. 

ASSOCIATION  AND  DISCRIMINATION. — 
Reciprocal  processes,  82.  Dis- 
crimination furnishes  material  for 
association  to  work  upon,  90. 
Mystery  of  trains  of  thought,  94. 
Examples  of:  roar  of  ocean. 
Niagara  and  mountain  storm,  95 
et  seq.  Law  of,  by  similarity,  96. 
Law  of,  by  contiguity,  97.  By 
contrast,  100.  Inference  based  on, 
101-102.  Trains  of  thought  follow 
lines  of  recent  interest,  104.  The 
orders  of  experi  ence  and  of  reason , 
106.  By  similarity  and  contiguity, 
mutual  relation  of,  107-110. 
Things  recalled  in  the  order  of 
the  original  experience,  111-112. 
By  contiguity,  and  prosaic  type  of 
mind,  114.  By  similarity,  and 
imaginative  type,  114-115.  Of 
words  with  objects  and  ideas, 
119-120.  Words  as  indefinite 
symbols,  120.  Symbols  in  arith- 
metic and  algebra,  121-123.  And 
the  words  of  a  foreign  language, 
125-128.  Formation  of  helpful 
associations,  129-133.  De  Gama 
and  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  131. 

ATTENTION.— Definition  of,  40.  Of  a 
child,  40-41.  And  beginning  of 
culture,  41.  Dependent  on  active 
thinking,  42-45.  Cultivation  of 
interest  to  secure,  46.  Hazy 
knowledge  due  to  lack  of,  48-51. 
Results  of  imperfect,  not  likely  to 
be  improved.  63.  Importance  of, 
to  all  details  of  a  problem,  64. 


Effect  of  expectant  attention  on 

memory,  170. 

BAER,  KARL  VON.— Feelings  of,  275. 
BAGEHOT,  WALTER. — Quotation  from, 

BEAGLE  VOYAGE.— Darwin's  method 
on,  38. 

BLACK-BIRD  CONCERT.— Two  notes  in, 
91-92. 

BOERS.— The,  petrified  national  will  of, 
253. 

BOTANY.— Classification  in,  135. 

CHARACTER. — Individual  and  habit,  14. 
National  and  habit,  14-15.  And 
genius,  290.  Standards  of  meas- 
urement, 291.  Principles  of  con- 
duct, 292.  Moral  force,  293. 
Moral  attitude  of  student,  296. 
Freedom  of  thought  and  action 
in  America,  297. 

CH ARPBNTI  ER . — Effect  of  announcement 
of  cause  of  glacial  phenomena  on 
observation,  75-76, 197,  208. 

CHILDHOOD  —Observations  of,  imper- 
fect from  lack  of  general  princi- 
ples, 79-81.  Ideals  best  planted 
in,  284. 

CIVILIZATION.— Foresight  an  element 
of,  25,  151-152. 

CLASSIFICATION.— In  language,  134.  In 
botany,  136.  Every  common 
name  implies,  136.  Purpose  of, 
138.  Real  difficulties  of,  138  et 
seg.  Value  of  alphabetical  ar- 
rangements, 140-144.  Of  animals, 
slow  improvement  of,  144-150. 

CONDUCT  AND  THE  FEELINGS,  268. 
And  ideals,  282.  Principles  of, 
292. 

CONFUSION  OF  KNOWLEDGE. — Due  to 
lack  of  reflection,  234. 

CONTIGUITY. — Law  of  association  by, 
97  et  seq.  And  routine  thinking, 
180-184. 

CONTRAST. — Law  of  association  by,  100. 

CULTURE  AND  THE  FEELINGS,  278. 

DARWIN,  CHARLES.— Method  of,  on 
Beagle  voyage,  38.  Observation 
of  the  natives  of  Terra  del  Fuego, 
72.  On  the  glacial  phenomena  at 
Cym  Idwal,  74.  His  mind  domi- 
nated by  general  principles.  177. 


INDEX 


His   treatment   of   minor  differ- 
ences, 226.    The  feelings  of,  27  J. 
DAY-DREAMING.— Habit  of  211. 
DEVIL'S  LAKE,  WISCONSIN  —Relation  of 

cliff  and  talus  at.  184. 
DISCRIMINATION.— Dependent  on 
variety  among  phenomena,  82. 
And  association,  reciprocal  pro- 
cesses. 82.  Of  minute  differences, 
83.  Lack  of,  produces  the 
"  initial  error  "  in  most  thinking, 
83.  Of  the  letters  of  German 
alphabet,  83-S4.  Accuracy  de- 
pendent on,  85.  Recognition  of 
differences  without  knowing  their 
nature,  87.  Expert  ness  depen- 
dent on,  88.  Of  a  blind  man.  89. 
Furnishes  material  for  association 
to  work  upon,  90.  Of  the  two 
notes  in  a  black-bird  concert, 
91-92. 

EMPIRICAL  KNOWLKDGK,  211. 
EQUILIBRIUM.— Stable     and     unstable, 

1-4.    Illustrations  of,  1,  2,  4. 
ERROR.— Elimination  of.  226. 
EXPECTATION.— Willingness    to    sacri- 
fice 

EXPERTNESS. — Dependent  on  discrimi- 
nation, 88. 

FAILURHS.— Meaning  of,  247. 
FEELINGS. — The,    and     conduct,    268. 
Standards   of   feeling,  268.     Un- 
trained feelings,  JTU-jTJ.    Monot- 
ony of  interest  and  the  feelings, 
274.     Case    of    Charles    Darwin, 
274.    Karl  von  Baer.  275     Culture 
and   the.    278.      In    the   field    of 
philanthropy.  27' 
FORESIGHT. — An  element  of  civilization, 

25. 

GERMAN   ALPHABET.— Error  in   learn- 
ing, 18.     Discrimination   of    the 
letters  of,  88-84. 
GERMANY,  FRANCE  AND   ENGLAND.— 

Classification  of  plants  in,  19. 
GLACIAL    PHENOMENA.— Darwin,   and 
the,  at  Cym  ldwal,7l.      Interpre- 
tation of,  since  1834,  75-76,  192- 
198. 

HABIT. -Definition  of,  5.  Student's 
attitude  toward.  6-7.  Proverbs 
on,  8.  Time  of  formation  of,  8-9. 
Power  of,  11.  A  case  of  "brown 
study,"  12.  A  drunken  sailor,  12. 
Necessity  of,  13.  Relation  of,  to 
character  of  individual,  14.  To 
national  character,  14-15.  Ac- 
cumulation of  individual  power, 
dependent  on,  15-16.  Tends  to 
cut  off  action  along  other  lines, 
18.  An  error  in  learning  German 
alphabet,  18.  I.inna-us  and  the 
doctrine  of  classification  of  plants, 
in  England,  Germany  and  France, 


19.  Geological  history  of  the  pw 
tribe,  19.  Venus'  fly-trap,  20. 
The  law  of,  irresistible,  20-21. 

HABITUAL  MASTERY,  258. 

HIAWATHA'S  HUNTING,  1-V». 

IDEALS  AND  CONDUCT,  282.  Result  of 
growth  rat  her  than  argumci. 
Hest  planted  in  childhood,  284. 
Corruption  in  youth,  285.  Per- 
manent effect  of  moral  mis- 
conduct, 287. 

IMPULSE  AND  THE  WILL,  238. 

IsKi.Ki  SCH.— Based  on  association,  101, 
I""-*.  Spontaneous,  unreliable, 
228. 

INTEREST.— The  teacher's  and  the  stu- 
dent's task,  2.i-24.  Of  a  young 
child  and  of  a  savage,  24.  Present 
versus  remote,  25.  Present  inter- 
est and  good  roads.  26-27.  An 
African  trail,  27.  English  spell- 
ing, 28-29.  Present  interest  and 
education,  29.  Development  of, 
in  unpleasant  things,  31-32. 
Transformation  of  a  present  into 
a  permanent,  33.  A  trail  made 
with  a  purpose,  35-36.  Intel- 
lectual work  done  with  an  end  in 
view,  86-39.  Darwin's  method 
on  Beagle  voyage,  38.  Cultiva- 
tion of,  to  secure  attention,  46. 
Effect  of.  on  observation,  72. 
Monotony  of,  and  the  feelings, 
271. 

JAMES,  PKOF.  WILLIAM.— On  the  mem- 
ory of  Thurlow  Weed,  165.  On 
the  will.  2 11. 

•s.—  Classification    of   plants  in 
France.  19. 

LOGIC  AND  TRUTH,  220. 

LONE  ROCK.— Reasoning  concerning, 
186-191. 

MAINK.  SIR  HENRY.— His  mental  grasp 
168. 

MEMORY.— So-called  cures,  l.'il.  Civili- 
zation and  foresight,  151-152. 
1  >istinct  types  of,  154  Hiawatha's 
hunting.  156.  Improvement  of, 
dependent  on  change  of  method, 
157.  A  good  memory  dependent 
on  knowledge  of  general  prin- 
ciples, 160,  169.  "Remembering" 
without  thinking,  163.  Case  of 
Thurlow  Weed,  164.  Importance 
of  first  impression,  166.  Sir 
Henry  Maine,  168.  Review  of 
previous  work,  170.  Expectant 
attention,  170.  And  afterthought, 
170-175  Domination  of  the  mind 
by  one  or  few  great  principles, 
175-17y.  Charles  Darwin,  as 
example  of.  177. 

MENTAL  ALFRTNKSS.—  Effect  of  on 
scholarship,  66-57.  Calamities 


INDEX 


due  to  lack  of,  58.  Of  wild 
animals,  60.  Chronic  lack  of, 
under  civilized  conditions,  61-62. 

MIND.— The,  controlling  factor  in  ob- 
servation, 63-69.  Attitude  of, 
toward  work  to  be  done,  301. 

MISCONDUCT.— Moral,  permanent  effect 
of,  287. 

MORAL  FORCE,  293.  Attitude  of  student, 
296. 

MOSQUITOS. — As  cause  of  malaria,  212. 
Of  yellow  fever,  213. 

N  i  A  c  A  R.A.— Roar  of,  recalls  other 
sounds.  95. 

OBSERVATION.— Controlling  factor  in, 
not  the  senses,  but  the  mind, 
63-64.  Analysis  and  synthesis, 
reciprocal  elements  in,  64-66. 
Necessity  of,  to  vigorous  thought, 
66-67.  Scholarship  without, 
sterile,  67-68.  Tendency  to  get 
information  at  second  hand,  69- 
70.  Growth  of  power  of,  71-72. 
Effect  of  interest  on,  72.  Darwin 
and  the  natives  of  Terra  del 
Fuego,  72.  Limited  to  what  one 
is  looking  for,  73-74.  Darwin  and 
glacial  phenomena  at  Cym  Idwat, 
74.  Of  glacial  phenomena  since 
1834,  75-76.  Necessity  of  theory 
to  good,  76-77.  Of  childhood, 
imperfect  from  lack  of  general 
principles,  79-81. 

OuiULETTK,  FRED — Story  of,  262. 

PIG  TRIBE.— Geological  history  of,  19. 

PROVERBS  ON  HABIT,  8. 

PUZZLE.— Solution  of  a,  201. 

REASONING,  180.  Routine  thinking,  and 
association  by  contiguity,  180-184. 
Relation  of  cliff  and  talus  at 
Devil's  Lake.  184.  The  case  of 
Lone  Rock,  186-191.  Interpreta- 
tion of  glacial  phenomena,  192- 
198.  Charpentier  and  Louis 
Agassiz  on  glacial  phenomena, 
197.  Importance  of  theory  for 
good  observation,  199  et  seq. 
Solution  of  a  common  puzzle,  201. 
Of  a  problem  in  algebra.  20*1. 
And  the  recognition  of  similar- 
ities, 207.  Inference  of  Charpen- 
tier, 208.  Progress  from  known 
to  unknown  dependent  on  recog- 
nition of  similarities.  209  Un- 
intentional grouping  of  facts,  210. 
Empirical  knowledge,  211.  His- 
tory of  malaria,  212-214.  Accept- 
ing opinions  ready-made,  215. 
No  start  without  a  preliminary 
suggestion,  215.  Every  fact 
capable  of  explanation,  217.  Con- 
ditions of  sound  reasoning,  219. 
Knowledee  at  every  stage  is  im- 
perfect, 219.  Discovery  of  truth 


a  slow  process,  220.  Logic  and 
truth,  220.  Reasoning  and  sa- 
gacity, 220-222  Failure  to  con- 
sider all  the  facts,  224-225.  Catch- 
ing a  lizard  with  a  straw,  225. 
Elimination  of  error,  226.  Neglect 
of  minor  differences,  226.  Dar- 
win's treatment  of  minor  differ- 
ences, 226.  Every  fact  has  a  tale 
to  tell,  227-228.  Spontaneous  in- 
ferences unreliable,  228. 
REFLECTION.— Facts  brought  into  close 
relation  by,  233.  Confusion  of 
knowledge  due  to  lack  of,  234. 
Much  reading  and  little  thinking, 

SAGACITY  AND  REASONING,  220. 

SCHOLAR.— The,  and  will  power,  256- 
258. 

SCHOLARSHIP.— Effect  of  mental  alert- 
ness on,  56-57.  Without  observa- 
tion sterile,  67-68. 

SELF-MADE  MEN.  256. 

SHIVERING.— Habit  of,  262 

SIMILARITIES.— Recognition  of,  and 
reasoning,  ?07.  Progress  from 
known  to  unknown  dependent  on 
recognition  of,  209. 

SIMILARITY.— Law  of  association  by, 
96  et  srq. 

Si  ABIE  AND  UNSTABLE  EQUILIBRIUM, 
1-4. 

STANDARDS  OF  FEELING,  268.  Of 
measurement,  291. 

STUDENT. — Moral  attitude  of,  296. 

SYMBOLS.— Words  as  indefinite,  120. 
In  arithmetic  and  algebra,  121- 
125. 

THEORY  —Necessity  of,  to  good  obser- 
vation. 76  V&etseq. 

TIME. — Perspective  of,  248. 

TRUTH.— Discovery  of,  a  slow  process, 
220. 

VENUS'  FLY  TRAP,  20. 

WEED,  THURLOW.— The  memory  of, 
164. 

WILD  ANIMALS.— Alertness  of,  60. 

WILL.— Impulse  and  the,  238-239.  The 
explosive.  239.  The  deliberative, 
241.  William  James  on  the,  241. 
Relation  of  thought  to  action,  243. 
Habit  of  day-dreaming,  244.  The 
vacillating,  245.  Petrified  national 
will  of  the  Boers,  253.  The  boy 
and  the  bull-frog,  254  Will-power 
and  the  scholar.  256-258.  Self- 
made  men.  256.  Habitual  mastery, 
258.  Habit  of  shivering,  262. 
Story  of  Fred  Ouillette,  262. 
Periods  of  mental  stress  and 
relief,  265. 

YOUTH — Corruption  in,  285. 

ZOOLOGY. — Classification  in,  144-150. 


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REC        ^ 

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•  21-100m-7,'33 

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